Bats of a Feather
by RainaWrites
Summary: Batman and Nightwing (John Blake) are still recovering from a great tragedy when they encounter a new, tenacious vigilante called the Spoiler. Then Poison Ivy makes her debut, and she pits good against good and bad against bad. Can Gotham's heroes learn to trust one another and unite as a team? Or will their beloved city fall into the hands of villains?
1. Zinnea Elegans

Students bent over their final exams in a long, dark hall at Seattle University. The only sound that could be heard was the scratching of pencils on paper. Near the window, a woman with lavish red hair and porcelain skin watched the fog rolling in. Storm clouds tried to rain, splattering the pavement with a few drops now and then. But even the sky seemed to lack motivation.

Her eyes welled with pity when she noticed a row of flowers trembling in the damp cold. Their heads drooped as if dreaming of warmer places, exotic places. How could someone plant zinnias in the middle of Seattle? They hated the rain. Their beautiful splendor deserved better than the miserable courtyard.

But the zinnias were forgotten as she caught sight of a man pacing near the front. Professor Legrand looked deep in thought, taking great strides and gazing at the floor absent-mindedly. His hair reminded her of cinnamon bark, a pleasing brown that was the same color as his eyes. His jawline was smooth and strong. He was taller than average, and also more athletic than average. Nothing about him was average, in fact. At least not to the young lady.

She rose and collected her papers. "Finished so soon, Miss Isley?" the professor asked.

"Yes," she smiled. Her almond-shaped eyes smiled, too. "But don't worry. I'll be doing a lot of studying over the break."

* * *

A few hours later, the storm had still not broken. But a wind kicked up. The branches of a dogwood tree whipped against the windowpane of a small apartment on the south side of town. Inside, the young woman hummed to herself as she applied a tube of bright red lipstick. A thump on the door made her heart thump as well.

She flung the door open, brimming with anticipation. Her visitor shuffled inside furtively. As he tried to get out of his rain coat, she grabbed him by the collar and pressed her lips against his. "I'm ready for a nice, long study session," she whispered. "Professor."

"Not now, Pamela," he chided. "I just got here." He shoved a hand through his hair, smoothing evidence of the wind's abuse. "Is that dinner I smell?"

She stepped back, disappointed. "Yes. Roast beef. Your favorite." She helped him slough off his coat and hung it up beside a stand in the hall overflowing with ivy.

When she returned he was already sitting at the table, piling food onto his plate. She sat down across from him and flashed a smile that went unnoticed.

"Marc? Beloved?"

He paused, fork still in hand. "Hm?"

"Have you given it any more thought?" She played with a napkin nervously.

He took a deep breath and placed his hands on either side of his plate. "Actually, that's why I wanted to come here tonight."

She looked on anxiously. "You haven't changed your mind, have you darling?"

"No, no. I still want to marry you, Pamela. It's just...well, I want you to be comfortable, you know? It's the whole reason I've put off our engagement. The only reason." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "A woman like you deserves more than this place. Rain doesn't suit you. Seattle doesn't suit you. We need to go somewhere more...exotic."

"Where should we go?" she asked, thinking of the zinnias in the courtyard.

"I've put a lot of thought into this," he said, watching her anticipation build. "And I think we should move...to Gotham City."

"Gotham City?" Her excitement flatlined.

"Yes! It's a big city, even bigger than Seattle. There are all kinds of opportunities there-"

"There are all kinds of maniacs, too. Didn't someone try to blow the whole place up a few years ago?"

Legrand looked at her sternly. "But that Batman guy stopped him, didn't he? Come on, it'll be an adventure! Think of all the companies who would be begging for a talent like yours. Top of your class, a degree in botany _and_ biochemistry...the possibilities are endless!"

She blushed in the wake of his flattery. "And what about you, dear? How are the universities?"

"Oh, I wasn't planning on teaching. Not anymore."

"But then-how can we still get married?"

"See, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a plan that can make us a fortune. That can make all of our dreams come true."

"What is it?" she breathed. Her eyes sparkled. Her stomach fluttered.

"It's...well, it's dangerous. I would need somebody to help me. Somebody I can trust."

"You can trust me!" she insisted, leaning forward earnestly. "I'd do anything for you, love, anything! Especially if it means we can finally be married!"

A smile spread slowly across his face. "Yes. Yes I know."


	2. Wounds

Footsteps pounded down the alley. Sweat glistened on the scalp of a man with close cropped hair and an oversized jacket. Sirens wailed close by, _too_ close for his comfort.

Suddenly an arm lashed out from the darkness, sweeping him off his feet. He whimpered, looking up at the silhouette that formed in a mist of snow. Nightwing grabbed the lapels of his jacket and lifted him menacingly close to his face.

"Did you think you could outrun me, Jeffords?" he rasped. But he did not wait for an answer. Nightwing dropped him back to the ground and then hailed his fists down repeatedly. Even after the man's cries stopped and his body had gone limp, Nightwing continued the vicious beating.

"That's enough!" a voice bellowed. Batman pried him off the perp and tossed him aside.

"Let go of me!" Nightwing snarled, shoving away. As he stumbled backwards, his foot inadvertently broke through an icy puddle.

"Go home, Nightwing," Batman ordered.

"Jeffords' partner is still out there-"

"I said go home! You're done here."

Nightwing glared at him. "Fine." He wiped the perp's blood from his face and then backed away, disappearing soundlessly into the night.

* * *

Gordon rubbed at the Bat Signal with his sleeve, cleaning off the frost-smudged glass. It had been a long night for everyone.

The flap of a cape alerted him to his old friend's presence. "Thanks for your help tonight," he said, turning to the massive black shadow.

"How is Jeffords?" Batman asked. His voice was deep and grating in the frigid night air.

"He's in the hospital, but he'll be well enough to go back to prison in a few weeks. What happened out there?"

"Nightwing. I shouldn't have talked him into coming tonight."

Gordon nodded gravely. He had noticed a disturbing change in the young hero lately. "Tomorrow makes three years," he mused. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know." Batman's answer made the commissioner cringe.

"Well, maybe he just needs more time. We'll get to the bottom of this smuggling ring without him." Gordon waited for a reply, but none came. He looked up. The caped crusader was gone.

"Don't give up on him, please," he whispered. "For her."

* * *

The following morning, Bruce pulled up a chair at the breakfast table. Blake was already seated but offered no greeting. Alfred emerged from the kitchen with a handful of jars. He set them down between the two men, not oblivious to the tension but not addressing it either. "It's a funny thing, our habits," he said.

"How's that?" Bruce asked. Blake remained unmoved.

"Rhubarb jam. It was Shadow's favorite, yet I still find myself picking it up at the market. Figured we should start cracking into it; there's a whole cupboard-full now."

"Remember how zealous she was about it?" Bruce laughed at the fond memory. "If she thought I had broken into a jar, she'd give me the cold shoulder for a day. I guess I've still been acting like it was off-limits."

He dipped a knife into one of the jars, holding a slice of toast aloft in his other hand.

Blake dropped his fork noisily onto the plate. "I'm not hungry after all," he mumbled, pushing away from the table.

Bruce's jaw clenched. "Please excuse us Alfred," he said quietly. The butler cast a compassionate glance at the young man that went unappreciated. Then he obeyed, retreating into the kitchen alone.

"Sit down, Blake," Bruce ordered. "We need to talk."

Blake paused but did not turn around. "About last night? You're the one who let his partner get away-"

"Not about last night," his mentor interrupted. "About the last three years."

Blake's nostrils flared. "I have nothing to say to you," he declared.

"Really? Because I think you do." Bruce folded his arms across his chest. "And I want you to say it."

Blake sighed, though it sounded more like a snarl. "Fine then!" He turned to face the man sitting expectantly at the table. "You shouldn't have let her die. You shouldn't have let her leave with that bomb."

Bruce braced himself against the young man's anger. "I have to live with it too, you know." He had not expected it to be so difficult to convince Blake of this.

"And what am _I_ supposed to live with?" The question stung them both.

"Blake, I'm still here. We're still a team," he answered, uncrossing his arms.

"She was more than just a teammate!" Bitter tears sprang to the young man's eyes. "She was supposed to be my _future_ , Bruce. And every day that goes by reminds me of that-the future that I was robbed of." He glared at his mentor, a broken, jaded visage of his former self.

"She chose to be Gotham's future. She would do it again if she had the chance. That's what this calling is all about."

"Don't preach to me about being a hero! I would have gladly taken her place in that cockpit. Why didn't YOU?"

And there it was. Blame lay before them, open and ugly like a gaping wound. Bruce's face tightened with indignation. He stood, kicking his chair out of the way.

"She was already dying, Blake! You know this! It was Bane's hand, not mine. And I made her a promise-" He strode towards the young man. "A promise that I wouldn't let this happen. Don't do this. Don't let the poison set in. Because otherwise, we will have _both_ failed her."

Blake's lips curled back as Bruce grasped his shoulders. "All's not lost. It's going to be okay. You have to believe that."

"Yeah, well, that's what I told _her_." He slapped Bruce's hands away and marched out of the room. His footsteps receded like a storm to the horizon. Bruce wanted to follow, but Blake's resentment was too great a distance for him to cover.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _ **For first time visitors**_ **: This is a sequel to my first story, which follows the Dark Knight Trilogy. You don't have to read that one to follow along. You just need to know that the main character of that story was a girl named Shadow. She was based on the character of Talia al Ghul. Except in my story, Bruce came across her as a little girl in the League of Shadows and brought her back to Gotham with him. She became like a daughter to him, and later fights crime like her mentor. She came across Blake when he was still an officer under Gordon. They became partners in more ways than one. There was a major event at the end of my first story that you will be able to surmise on your own. Whenever else I reference events from the first story, I will try to make it so that you can glean enough of what you need to know about it to make this a stand alone story. If you have any questions, just let me know in the comments and I will respond! Also, if you have a story (especially a Batman story) let me know so I can check it out! I love reading and especially anything Batman :-)**


	3. Risks and Rewards

It was another pale gray morning in Gotham City. The sun had yet to show its face, though night had long since departed. Legrand's taxi stopped at the foot of an apartment building that looked abandoned at first glance. He smoothed his camel hair jacket upon exiting the cab.

"Don't wait around," he said to the driver, handing him a bundle of money. "And keep the change."

Legrand found himself in a generous mood despite the abysmal weather. He looked at the crumbling city block and clicked his tongue. It wouldn't be long before he joined the ranks of social elites like Bruce Wayne. But first, the people on this side of town had to know his name.

Legrand made his way up a sagging staircase to the fifth floor. He followed a long, narrow hallway to a door labelled "502." Three times he rapped, squaring his jaw as he waited. No answer. Three more times he rapped, a little less politely. Finally, the knob turned.

Slowly, cautiously, someone opened the door. A man's face appeared. His hair was dusty blonde and flecked with age. Permanent lines of fret ran across his forehead. He glared at Legrand with hardened, silver-blue eyes.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he growled.

Legrand flashed him a disingenuous smile. "I heard you've fallen on tough times, Arthur. I'm here to offer you a deal."

"Get outta here-" he tried to slam the door, but Legrand shoved his foot in the way.

"I really think you should hear me out. If you ever want Cobblepot to take you seriously again."

The man's face tightened. He glanced about furtively. "Alright. But don't go farther than the kitchen." He opened the door a little wider and beckoned his visitor in. Legrand entered and took a seat at a table that looked older than dirt.

Arthur watched him guardedly, hovering near a drawer that Legrand suspected contained his gun.

"Out with it," he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking to relocate to Gotham," Legrand said, leaning back in the chair and then thinking twice about it as a creak rent up from its base. "So I've been busy scouring the local job market. I had a little chat with your boss-or should I say, your former boss."

His host's face ruddied with indignation. "I can't stand that miserable-"

"Yeah, I feel the same way," Legrand commiserated, cutting him short. "He wouldn't give me a fair shake."

"So, what then? What do you want with me?"

"I thought you might want the same thing I do. A chance to prove yourself." He steepled his fingers together as if he were closing a deal on Wall Street.

"I don't need to prove myself to that old bird," Arthur snapped.

"What about money? Looks like you could use some of that."

His eyes flickered with intrigue for the first time. "What kind of money?"

"Enough to get you out of this hole."

Arthur shook his head, fighting against the appeal. "Rewards don't come without risks. And since you're new to Gotham, let me fill you in on a little problem of ours. You ever notice that signal in the sky after dark? The one that's shaped like a bat?"

"Yes, I've heard of Batman. I also heard about your partner and his unfortunate run in with-what's he called-Nightwing? Cobblepot seemed to think it was your fault."

Arthur's face drew taut. "You think I wanted that to happen to Jeffords? He's been eating through a straw ever since. No, I'm no rat," he declared. "I don't know how the police knew we were going to be there that night."

"What about the other times?"

"Listen, strange things happen in this town. You'll see. Sometimes I feel like even the shadows work for Batman."

Legrand shrugged dismissively.

"Anyways," Arthur continued. "If you believe him, why are you here?"

"Because I don't believe him. It doesn't look to me like you've had a payout from the cops. And your criminal record still stands. I think he was just threatened by you."

Arthur snorted.

"No, really. I heard stories about some of your past exploits. You know security systems in and out. Cobblepot was a fool for letting you go."

Arthur folded his arms. "Your flattery is a tactic. It won't work on me."

"Then what will? I need someone with your skills. And you need the money. What's holding you back?"

But Arthur clenched his jaw, withholding the answer.

Legrand stood and dusted off his suit. "Look, Arthur. I'm planning on shaking this city up a bit. If you want to be ahead of the game, if you want to show Cobblepot who's who, give me a call." He set a slip of paper down on the table and started towards the door.

"Where?" Arthur called after him. "What kind of place are you planning on hitting up?" Legrand paused with his hand on the doorknob. There was a moment of silence.

"The Museum of Antiquities," he finally said.

"You're kidding me, right? That's just a bunch of old stuff barely worth ten bucks for an admission ticket."

"It's not valuable _yet_." Legrand turned to the dishevelled man still standing in the kitchen. There was a something in his eyes that made Arthur feel uneasy. "Don't forget about that phone call."

The door shuddered as it closed behind him. Arthur sank into a chair and rubbed his temples wearily. What a morning.

After a few minutes, the fridge latched closed behind him. He leapt up, startled. A purple, glossy cake was being carried his way. The small figure beneath it looked even smaller in comparison to the frosted mess. She plopped the cake onto the table with a grunt of effort.

"Morning, Stephanie," Arthur said, sitting back down again. She ignored him, withdrawing a box of candles from her pocket. One by one, she stabbed them into the cake.

"That's too many candles," her father joked. "You're not fourteen yet." He forced a laugh.

Stephanie's eyes darted up at him. "Must be hard to count birthdays when you've missed so many."

He winced. "I'm sorry, honey. Really I am. I was out looking for work again. And when did you learn to bake?"

"I didn't," she retorted. "Ms. Garcia made it. From down the hall. At least _she_ remembered."

Stephanie went to a drawer and retrieved a box of matches. "After I finish lighting the candles you're going to sing to me, okay?" It was more of an order than a request. "Just like when mom was here."

Arthur sang for his daughter, despite the grief that burdened his heart to hear himself singing alone. As he finished, Stephanie closed her eyes and moved her honey blonde hair aside so that she could blow out the flames.

Her father smiled. She looked so much like her mother; the similarity was striking. Birthdays had been a lot more fun when she was alive.

"Hey," he said, cuffing her chin gently. "You know I love you, right?"

She looked back at him, the anger fading from her eyes. "I guess so," she mumbled.

It was then Arthur remembered the slip of paper sitting beside the cake. He set his hand over top of it, hoping his daughter didn't notice. Only a few more birthdays stood between Stephanie and adulthood. He couldn't afford to miss any more. He would have to find a way to make them count.

"Look, things are going to get better, okay? I promise. And-hey do I get a piece of that too?"

She giggled with a mouthful of cake. "Alright, alright, but only one! Don't want it to spoil your appetite!"

* * *

 **Author's Note: Sorry for all the dialogue lately, I promise an action chapter next! Ninjachick, you are so awesome for following along, I hope you like this story just as much as my other one (although I still miss Shadow a lot haha), I imagine there is a pronounced age difference between Pamela Isley and Marc Legrand. I'm borrowing loosely from her origin story in the Earth One comics, which doesn't say how many years apart they are but in my mind she's mid-20s, and he's like 40s.**


	4. The Heist

A shaft of light fell across the face of Tutankhamun. It was just a plaster replica, but the old guard liked to believe it was the real deal. He had always loved museums and old things, even before he was an old thing himself. It was a comforting place, where nothing ever changed and nothing exciting ever happened.

His flashlight shifted to rows of dimly lit cabinets as he continued his round. Pottery pieces, jewelry, a couple of ancient urns. The guard froze in his tracks. Wasn't there supposed to be _three_ ancient urns? He shuffled closer, holding his breath. The back of the cabinet was ever so slightly askew, as if someone had closed it in a hurry.

He fumbled for his radio. "There's been a break-in, Dale! Call it in! Right away!" He whipped around, searching the rest of the room with his flashlight. "Dale?" He was answered with an unsettling silence.

Just then a figure darted out from behind Tutankhamun. "Stop right there!" the guard shouted. He pulled his gun and fired a warning shot. Plaster from the ceiling crumbled over his head. The thief disappeared into a corridor beyond the entrance of the exhibit.

Bravery flickered in the old guard's heart. He gave chase, holding his flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. "Give yourself up!" he demanded, pausing in the threshold to discern which way the perp had gone.

There was dull thud as someone struck him from behind. He slumped to the cold, tiled floor. Arthur stood behind him, drawing his arm back. "What happened?" came Legrand's crackly voice through his walkie talkie.

"There was a guard. But it's under control now."

"Good. I'm on my way. I assume you have the urn?"

"You mean you didn't take it?"

"What? Why would I? Where the hell is it?"

Just as Arthur was articulating a retort, the corridor's skylight shattered. An intimidating figure landed amidst the broken shards, each one reflecting silken moonlight. Arthur swallowed fearfully. After what happened to Jeffords, he would've much rather run into Batman.

He tried to run away, but Nightwing was upon him in an instant. Arthur lashed at the masked face, landing a couple of lucky blows. But he was punished harshly for them with a beating to remember.

Suddenly the sound of a gunshot startled both men. Arthur opened his eyes tentatively. Nightwing was doubled over, holding his side in pain. No blood appeared between his fingers, though. That formidable suit of his must have managed to stop the bullet.

"Your turn, Arthur," Legrand's wickedly smug voice cut through the darkness.

Arthur kicked Nightwing square in the jaw. He sailed to the ground. Arthur followed, whaling on his opponent in ruthless vengeance. Again and again his fist bloodied the hero's face. At long last he stepped back, giving them both a chance to breathe.

A metallic click drew Nightwing's attention upwards. Legrand stood before him, pistol cocked and ready. "I don't believe we've met," he said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "And I don't care to ever again."

Nightwing slid a batarang into the palm of his hand, preparing to throw it at the gun. But before he could, something small and dark hurled itself at Legrand's knees.

Legrand tumbled to the ground clumsily, flailing out at his attacker. He grasped a handful of black folds and was answered with a vicious snarl. He was holding onto a small, black slip of a figure. The urn peeked out from a bag slung over their back.

Nightwing recovered from the surprise of the interruption before Arthur did. He swept his opponent to the ground and started an assault that flashed his mind back to an icy alleyway. He could see Jefford's face below him, eyes flooded with helpless fear. Something reached him through the rage.

Nightwing paused, fist hovering in the air. Slowly, he backed away and allowed Arthur to scurry to safety.

"Give it to me!" Legrand roared, still scuffling with the thief. But they broke free from his clutch and darted behind Nightwing. The hero stood protectively between the two, bloody fists hanging from his sides as he glowered.

Legrand's eyes flicked to the prone, unconscious guard. He covered the distance with two long strides, scooping up his gun on the way. One hand grabbed the guard's collar and the other shoved his pistol against the unconscious man's temple.

"The urn," he demanded. "The urn, or him." His tongue flicked over his lips as he waited for an answer.

Without removing his eyes from Legrand, Nightwing held out a hand at his side. The bag was placed silently in his palm.

Legrand stepped away from the guard. "I expect someone of your reputation to honor a deal."

Nightwing nodded. He set the bag down and slid it across the floor.

Legrand's chest heaved with relief as he touched the urn at last. "Thank-you, hero," he said. Then he raised the gun again.

A bullet exploded from its barrel. Nightwing reeled backwards. His suit didn't stop it this time.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Arthur cried. "That was a cheap shot! We're burglars, not murderers!"

Legrand holstered his gun and turned to leave. "Speak for yourself."

Arthur glanced back at the sprawled, motionless Nightwing with something akin to remorse. The smaller figure was staring at him silently. Though he could not make out a face, he could feel something heavy in the air between them.

"I'm sorry," he offered, cringing at how futile an apology was at the moment. Then he turned on his heel and fled.

Nightwing groaned. The stun was wearing off. "Hey, are you alright?" a voice asked him. It was a youthful voice, with an airy, feminine timbre, and belonged to the stranger crouched beside him.

Her features were obscured by a large black hood and a purple balaclava. Slowly, he reached up his hand and pulled off the hood. A cascade of honey-colored hair tumbled over her shoulders. He tugged gently on the balaclava next. She did not resist; it was almost as if she were expecting him to recognize her.

"Geez, you're just a kid!" he exclaimed.

She grimaced. "Ugh. I _hate_ it when people call me that."

Nightwing couldn't help but be humored at her gall. "Well then what should I call you?"

"The Spoiler," she said, squaring her shoulders with an air of pride.

"Spoiler, huh? You shouldn't be out here alone like this."

"I'm not alone; I'm with you, you big oaf."

Nightwing narrowed his eyes. "This isn't a game. Gotham is a dangerous place at night."

"Yeah well, I did better than _you_." She glanced at the shallow bullet wound on his side. "Should I call Batman or something? Where is he anyways?"

"I'm fine, alright? I had everything under control. Now what did they steal?"

"Some stupid urn," Spoiler replied.

"Why?"

"Hell if I know."

"Watch your language!" His reprimand was automatic, a reaction to being in the presence of a child. She rolled her eyes. Nightwing didn't find her gall so amusing anymore. "And leave crime fighting to the adults, okay? I better not see you out here again."

"Or what?" she taunted.

"I mean it." He looked at her with a sternness that annoyed the girl. She pulled up her balaclava and hood with a loud scoff.

"Look, I've got other things to do tonight. So until next time-"

"No, no next time! Didn't you hear me-hey!" Nightwing snatched the air behind her as she dashed away, heedless of his rebukes. "Spoiler!"

But she had already disappeared into the darkness without a sound.


	5. Arriving in Gotham

From the air, Gotham City looked civilized enough. But as Pamela Isley stepped off the plane, her heart sank to realize it was as uninspiring as she had feared. She smoothed a crease in her bright floral skirt, scanning the crowd. The citizens, like the weather, appeared dull and dreary. Pamela couldn't understand what the professor had seen in this place. Still, she was determined to make the most of it. After all, Gotham was their future.

A familiar face emerged, flooding the young woman with relief.

"Pamela!" Legrand cried with an almost sincere smile. He pecked her cheek and took her suitcase by the handle.

"Beloved, I was getting so worried. I hadn't heard from you for weeks-"

"I know, I know," he said, urging her towards a waiting taxi cab. "I've been busy. But you'll be happy to hear I've also been successful."

Her eyes lit up. "You have the herbs from the urn? Oh, that's wonderful news!"

"Yes, now it's time for your part. I've set up a makeshift lab in the motel, with everything you'll need-"

"Motel?" She spoke the word as if it were a disease.

"Yes. It's just temporary. Until our little plan pays off. Quickly now, the meter is running."

The couple disappeared into the back of a taxi, and no one in Gotham knew the chain of events Pamela's arrival was about to set in motion. Not even Pamela herself.


	6. Hot Cocoa

Opera music drifted faintly through the alley. It floated over the head of a boy who knelt beside two dead bodies. A man and woman sprawled on the filthy ground, their clothes soaked with crimson. He buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle the screams that rose from his soul. It felt like forever until he dared to look again. The bodies were still there. But they had changed.

Shadow's lifeless eyes looked directly into his. The wind pulled at her cape, furling it against her torn and tattered combat suit. Nearby, Nightwing stared at him bitterly as the hilt of a knife protruded from between his shoulders. "You said it would be okay, Bruce. I wanted to believe it. I got my hopes up." Blood seeped from his mouth as he spoke. "But that's the thing about hope. It'll just stab you in the back someday."

Bruce bolted upright. The covers of his bed fell away. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and blew out a sigh. Sleep had been difficult ever since his confrontation with Blake.

He threw on a robe and descended the wide, marble staircase. As Bruce reached the bottom stair, he noticed a light streaming across the floor from the kitchen.

"Alfred? What are you doing?" He entered to find the old butler stirring a pot on the stove.

"Thought you might want some hot cocoa, sir," he said, irritatingly alert for the ungodly hour. "I was going to bring it up, but thanks for saving me the trip."

"How-?"

"You woke me with those God-awful screams. Nightmares, I take it?" He turned and retrieved a cup and saucer from a nearby cupboard.

Bruce felt suddenly like a little boy again. He nodded and drew himself up to the kitchen island. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his thoughts. "Did I do the right thing, Alfred?" he asked softly. "I mean, it was my footsteps she followed. All the way to her death."

The butler set the steaming chocolate before him and then leaned back against the counter. "You say that as if she died by your hand."

"Blake seems to think so."

"Blake is hurt. Have you ever seen a wounded animal? They can't tell friend from foe. He needs you, as much as he tries to push you away."

Bruce rubbed his bleary eyes. "I'm tired, that's all. Tired of losing my family. Sometimes it feels like I lost him, too, when I lost Shadow."

Alfred folded his arms. "When _we_ lost Shadow," he corrected.

"Huh?" Bruce paused, about to take his first sip.

"You and Master Blake act as if you're the only ones who lost something that day. Do you realize that? You've always been quite stubborn in your grief." Though his words were stern, his eyes were sympathetic. "I'm the one who spent the most time with her, you know. You taught her how to be a hero, but I taught her how to behave like a civilized citizen. She was my ward. And she was a much easier child to raise than you were, by the way." He winked at Bruce, who grinned wryly.

He took a sip of cocoa and cast his mind back. She had indeed been an easy child, quiet and undemanding but with a fierce determination hiding just beneath the surface. She seemed to excel at whatever she was taught. For so many years it had been just the three of them, laying the foundation of a secret legacy together.

Alfred appeared to be steeped in the same memories. He cleared his throat and began wiping down the countertop. "I'm tired too, Master Wayne," he said. "Tired of burying the people I'm in charge of caring for. But since I knew her so well, I can promise you this: you did the right thing. You mustn't keep doubting that."

Bruce hung his head. "Thank-you, Alfred. For everything," he replied. "You've always been there for us. And you're still here for us, even though you don't have to be."

"Oh, yes I do," the butler retorted. "Or else Batman would never have any clean clothes. Have you even seen a washing machine before? You can do a-hundred-and-twenty different forms of martial arts, but you can't run a load of laundry."

"A-hundred-and-twenty- _seven_ , actually." Bruce smiled. Alfred's staunch devotion, and his funny way of showing it, warmed his troubled heart. "Anyways, aren't you going to have some?" he asked, lifting his cup.

Alfred returned to the pot, reminded. He stirred the silken liquid with a ladle. "No, I must save the rest for Master Blake. He hasn't been sleeping well, either."

Bruce realized just how much he wanted to see the young man. Never before had they gone this long without talking. Blake had even taken to patrolling alone, steering clear of Batman and Gordon alike. "Think he'll come down?"

"No, probably not. But just in case."

Bruce smiled despite his disappointment. "You just won't give up on us, will you?"

The old butler winked again. "Never."


	7. Gratitude

Gordon pulled his rumpled trench coat tighter around him and then laced his hand through his wife's arm. They strolled along the path in comfortable silence, basking in the last light of evening.

As they crested a hill, a bronze sculpture came into view. Though the anniversary of her death had passed, visitors still brought wreaths and flowers to the base of Batgirl's likeness. Gordon smiled at the heart-warming display.

Then he caught sight of a young man sitting in the shadow of the statue. He was alone and invisible to the other patrons. Gordon mused about how blithely they passed by one of their very own guardians.

"Will you excuse me for a few minutes, Barb?" he asked, turning to his wife.

She glanced at the young man on the bench and then back at her husband. "Is he from the force?"

"Used to be. Haven't seen him in a long time. Too long, I'm afraid."

Barbara patted her husband on the cheek, knowing how he took to people in need. "Go on," she acquiesced.

Blake lifted his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. Gordon hailed him with a smile that was not returned. "How are you holding up, son? Been awhile."

"I'm fine, thanks."

The commissioner shook his head with a click of his tongue. "Honesty always suited you, Blake. You don't make a good liar."

The young man glanced at him sideways. "No offense, but I don't answer to you anymore."

"No," Gordon conceded. "I'm not your boss. But I _am_ your friend. And I'll always be that." He cast his eyes to the memorial, meeting Batgirl's noble gaze. "So what do you say, can we have a talk?"

Blake didn't answer, but he didn't stop the commissioner from continuing, either.

"Those were some dark days, you know, when Bane was still in power. But Batgirl and Nightwing, they really came through for us. Gave us hope in a hopeless time. It couldn't have been easy, with Batman gone. Still, they never abandoned us." Gordon looked down ruefully. "I wish I could've thanked her for that."

"You could still thank Nightwing, couldn't you?"

"Nightwing? Nah. It'd just go to his head."

Blake burst out laughing. It surprised them both in a pleasant way.

"I like the guy, I do. But to tell you the truth, I'm pretty worried about him. He kind of disappeared recently. Doing his own thing, I guess."

"Oh?" Blake feigned surprise.

"It's a shame, because I know she wouldn't want him to be alone out there."

Blake flinched as if he had been struck. Gordon took note and continued the assault.

"He was never the same, after her death. I've seen it before on the force. When people lose their partner, lose the one who stood between them and death so many times...it does things to them."

"Can't really blame him." Blake tried to sound as detached as he could, but his voice quavered slightly.

"No, I can't. It's just that sometimes, grief...it poisons people. Poisons the very memory of their loved ones, corrupting everything they stood for." Gordon placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. He gave a slight jump at the unexpected touch. "Gotham will lose another hero if he lets her turn to poison."

"What do you want _me_ to do about it?" He studied the commissioner's reaction. There was something shrewd behind his eyes, as if he could see right through Blake's mask.

"You have to talk to him, since he won't listen to me. People who share the same grief shouldn't suffer alone." Gordon's words were finding their target, try as Blake might to fend them off. He thought of Bruce with a pang of guilt.

Across the way, Barbara waved at the two men. "Anyways," Gordon said, climbing to his feet with an effort. "I hope Nightwing bounces back. We could use him. Something's stirring in the criminal world, I can feel it in my bones." He glanced at the recalcitrant young man one final time. "See you around, son."

Blake watched his back as he reunited with Barbara near a picturesque little pond. The couple joined a crowd of patrons clearing from the park. Blake found himself in the forlorn company of his thoughts again.

The sun sank lower in the sky, casting its red radiance over Gotham in a grandiose farewell. Molten light flowed over the bronze, sculpted surface of Batgirl. Sunset filled the folds of her cape and set it ablaze. Her eyes sparked for a moment as if with life. Blake thought he noticed a familiar glimmer smoldering in their depths.

He shook his head. It was just a statue. His attention fell to the flowers covering its base, small but meaningful gestures of gratitude. Each one had been placed by the hand of an ordinary citizen whom she had dedicated her life to protecting.

Blake's fingers brushed across his bullet wound as Gordon's parting words came to mind. Yes, something _was_ stirring in the criminal world. And he couldn't let it threaten the people she died for.

"I'll get to the bottom of it, Shadow," he promised her likeness. "For you." Then he rose with sudden urgency. He had to talk to Bruce before he left for his nightly patrol.


	8. Teammates

The elevator doors opened. Cool, damp air rushed over Bruce as he stepped down into the Bat Cave. He ruminated on the museum heist in yesterday's paper. Surely it was connected to the smuggling ring he and Gordon were investigating. They had received a tip about an impending robbery that same night, but it merely sent them across town on a fruitless search. A misdirect. But what for? Especially since Bruce suspected it was from the same anonymous tipper who had been warning them of the ring's targets for weeks now. Why the sudden deception? And why would the smugglers want an urn full of ancient, useless herbs?

So deep in thought was Bruce that he nearly bumped into Blake. The young man was dressed as Nightwing and in the process of strapping on his utility belt. He paused, noticing Bruce at the same time. His lips parted as though he wanted to speak, but when no words formed, he cleared his throat and looked away. Bruce waited patiently.

"I uh, I was wondering if I could join you tonight," he said at last.

Bruce smiled. Grace shone from his eyes. "I would like that."

Blake nodded as he clasped his belt together, trying hard not to wince.

"On one condition, actually," Bruce added. "If you tell me how you got injured."

Blake let out a wry laugh. His mentor was a detective after all.

"I've been shot," he stated plainly. Bruce's face sobered.

" _What?_ Where? When? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Blake assured, humored at the overt display of concern. "Now quit sounding like Alfred. And you better not tell him, either. His stitch jobs hurt worse than getting shot."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Alright. Go through it with me. What happened?"

"I heard a gunshot while I was on patrol," Blake began. "It came from the Museum of Antiquities." Bruce's face furrowed in thought as he listened to the recounting of events. The lines of his forehead deepened to hear Spoiler's part.

"Wait, so this kid had the urn?"

"Yeah."

"But she came back to help you, instead of escaping?"

Blake rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, she...she did," he said slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. "But she didn't even know why they wanted it."

"Then why steal it?"

Blake shrugged. "I don't know. You'll probably get the chance to ask her, though. I have this terrible feeling we'll be seeing Spoiler again."

The young man was right. A few nights later, Gordon sent them a message that another tip had come in. Something was going down at the docks.


	9. Poisoned

**A/N: Aww, your words mean so much, Ninjachick! Things are about to heat up in the coming chapters. We're going to see a lot more of Stephanie/Spoiler. She's going to be quite different from Shadow, but I hope she is just as likeable. Can't wait to hear what you think of her! :-)**

* * *

A vacancy sign blinked, fighting for life in front of the ramshackle motel. It was a destitute place for destitute people. Though Pamela loathed being there, her clandestine work demanded such surroundings. Good thing that was all about to change.

Pamela wiped two cups clean and set them on the table. "No champagne glasses, I'm afraid. These were all I could find," she said.

Legrand popped open a fizzling bottle. Pink champagne flowed over his hands and onto the dingy carpet below. "No matter. These will get the job done." Something devious glinted in his eyes. "Now, fetch me something to clean this up, will you?"

By the time she returned he had filled both cups. She dabbed the carpet with a washcloth and then settled back into a chair.

"Let's have a toast, shall we?" he said, pushing one of the cups towards her. "To you, Pamela. I couldn't have done this without you."

"To _us_ ," she corrected. "The future starts now!"

"Yes it does," he muttered, bringing the cup to his mouth. She followed suit. The bubbles crackled in her face as she drew in several long drafts.

"So what's next, darling?" Pamela asked. She set the cup back down and swirled her finger around the rim. "Shall we celebrate?" One delicate hand reached up and undid a button of her shirt.

Legrand leaned back, a smug and sinister smile spreading across his face. "Unfortunately, there's no time for that. I have one other accomplice to take care of."

She wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "Take care of? What are you talking about?"

"You'll know soon enough." He stared at her expectantly. The young woman flushed with sudden fear-or was that something else draining her strength?

"It-it's so hot in here!" She stumbled over to a window. The color fled from her face, turning it a sickly green. Perspiration dripped into her eyes. "What-what's happening to me?"

"Don't you recognize the work of your own poison?" Legrand took another sip from his untainted cup. He looked almost amused.

"Poison? You poisoned me?" she squeaked. Her knees trembled violently. She sank to the floor under the weight of his words. "But...why? I loved you!"

"It was all a charade, Pamela. A necessary charade. I knew you were the only one brilliant enough to turn my theories into fact. To turn worthless, ancient herbs into an untraceable poison."

She could taste the bitterness of his betrayal in her mouth. "No...no…."

"I must thank you, really. For giving me Gotham's next greatest weapon," he continued. "I might even miss you a little when I read your tragic story in the paper. The one about a young and beautiful graduate cut down in the prime of life. All signs point to cardiac arrest, as if her heart just wanted to quit."

He rose and began clearing all evidence of his presence. "You-you can't do this," she gasped. She could feel the poison-as well as anger-pooling in her blood.

"I would stay and watch you die, but Cobblepot's shipment will be coming in soon. I must be off to the docks."

He bent over her as she writhed on the floor. Her graceful features twisted in agony. "Goodbye, Pamela," he said, patting her on the cheek with a condescending tenderness. Moments later she could hear the door closing behind him. Death must be seconds away now.

But death never came to Pamela. For though her heart died, it continued to beat. The poison flooded her soul, strangling all that was decent, all that was good. And deep in the rift of its wake, a seed of vengeance was planted.


	10. The Interruption

**A/N: Sorry for going so long between updates! I have been busy fleshing out my first story, the Dark Knight's Shadow. Anyways, on to this one! I won't make you wait so long for the next chapter!**

* * *

"Doesn't spring ever come on time around here?" Stephanie mumbled. She shivered and pulled the threadbare curtains closed. The only source of light in the dismal living room came from the television. It cast a muted glow over the couch where a plate of sandwiches waited.

"Alright, I'm ready." Her father walked briskly into the room, sporting fresh bandages from a supposed bar fight. He paused before the muddle of peanut butter and jelly. "Went all out for dinner, huh?"

"You know I can't cook. Besides, we don't even have anything _to_ cook." She chucked a pillow at him. Arthur blocked it with a laugh. "Now sit down, will you? I've been waiting to watch this since my birthday." He stuck out his tongue at her, but obeyed.

She leapt over the back of the couch and landed on the cushion beside him. "Which one is this, anyways?" he asked, reaching for the remote.

" _Soup to Nuts_ ," she answered. "Before Curly came along."

"But I like Curly! He's my favorite of the Stooges!" her father protested.

"My birthday, my choice," she reminded him.

"Okay, okay." Arthur pushed play and then slung his arm over her shoulders. Stephanie forgot all about the lingering winter as she snuggled into his side. She forgot about the rest of the world, in fact, until a strident knock on the door made them both jump.

Arthur squared his jaw. "I'm sorry, honey," he mumbled, climbing to his feet.

"No, don't answer it. Please." Her last word made him pause. He clapped a sympathetic hand over her cheek.

"We'll finish this when I come back. I promise."

"And what if you don't?" She crossed her arms defiantly.

"We will, okay? You have my word-"

"Come back, I mean. What if you don't come back?"

Arthur froze, his jaw still slackened. Another round of knocking shook the apartment walls.

"Arthur! Come on, let's go!" Legrand's voice called.

"I'll be right there," he shouted over his shoulder. He turned back to the angry girl.

"Stephanie," her father began, bending down on one knee to look her in the eye. To his surprise, he found tears there. "I know you miss the house we used to have when mom...when mom was alive. This is the best I can do for now. But we won't even be able to keep this place if I don't come up with rent soon."

"I don't want a house!" she insisted. Two tears spilled forth. She wiped them away hurriedly. "I just want _you_. Don't go out, dad. Not tonight."

Something strained her voice, almost like it was a warning instead of a request. Arthur stood and wrapped his arms around her in a big bear hug. She remained rigidly aloof. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. Just remember what I said before, okay? Things are going to get better."

He kissed the top of her head good-bye. As he trudged towards the door, Arthur could feel her glare burning into his back. _I sure hope I'm right,_ he thought.


	11. The Penguin

Stephanie's mind raced after her father left. What did Legrand want with her father? Were they headed for the operation at the docks? Why show up to one of Cobblepot's routine shipments? She couldn't shake a terrible sense of foreboding.

Stephanie changed into her Spoiler suit as quick as she could. She had already tipped off the commissioner, which meant Batman and Nightwing were on their way. Her father was headed into a trap, either hers or Legrand's.

* * *

Stephanie's breath formed little puffs of mist as she sidled towards the corner of a metal storage container. The edges of the bay were still frozen as if winter clung to the shore for dear life. Ice broke against the docks with sonorous groans that echoed in the night.

Her costume wasn't very warm. Too many layers would have only gotten in the way. She tugged her hood down, grateful for its thin protection. Stephanie wondered if Nightwing's ears ever got cold. She couldn't help but giggle to herself, imagining the hero in one of those hats with earflaps.

A nearby clatter pulled Stephanie from her thoughts. "You idiot!" someone shouted. "That thing has survived for 1500 years, only to be dropped by an imbecile like you!"

Two men argued next to a pile of crates that waited beside a dock. The shattered remains of a Shiragi vase lay at their feet.

"I didn't drop it, you did!" came the retort. "Wait til Cobblepot hears about this-"

"Cobblepot doesn't need to know," the other snapped, suddenly nervous. "Or we'll both be sacked. Just like Brown."

Stephanie gritted her teeth at the mention of her father. Where was he, anyways?

"What do you mean 'doesn't need to know?' He'll find out anyways. That guy's got his nose in everything!"

"Ha. You mean his beak," the other sneered. "Gives me the creeps, he does. Reminds me of a penguin strutting around in those suits of his."

"Why does he insist on wearing those, anyways?"

"I dunno. To hide his feathers?" His companion keeled over in fits of laughter.

Stephanie turned from their conversation, scanning the snow-dappled shipyard. She needed a better vantage point. Making her way through a maze of storage containers, Stephanie found two that were close enough for her to shimmy up between them. As she reached the top, she heard the argument's tone change.

"We don't take orders from the likes of you!" one of the thugs shouted. She stole towards the edge and peered down at the scene. There stood her father, hovering a pace behind Legrand. His hands twitched nervously at his sides. Legrand, however, looked the very picture of confidence.

"I guess we're talking to the wrong guys, Arthur," he said with a cocky tilt of his head. "These must be low-level henchmen. Probably don't even know where their boss is."

The thugs exchanged offended glances. "Who the hell is this guy, Brown?"

Her father cleared his throat. "Look Hoffman, just tell us where he is."

" _I am right here._ " The men turned towards a voice that reminded Stephanie of chalk grating against pavement. A lanky silhouette hobbled towards the party, leaning on the handle of an umbrella like a cane. Shadows of moonlight highlighted the features of his face, which protruded in sharp, awkward angles. Ugliest of all was his beak-like nose. Despite his homeliness, he wore a neatly pressed tuxedo with all the trimmings.

"You're a persistent fellow, Legrand," he said, straightening the cuffs of his sleeve as he came to a stop. "Now, what did you want? My time is rather exiguous this evening. Tight schedule, I'm afraid."

His eloquent words did not match the coarseness of the voice behind them. Something about him irked the young girl. How could her father work for such a boob?

Legrand's lips twitched into a smile. "I was wondering if you've reconsidered my offer, Cobblepot."

A terrible sound erupted from Cobblepot's throat. It took a moment for Stephanie to realize he was laughing.

"I don't employ men who lack in terms of a resume," he said, dabbing his forehead with a silken kerchief. "Your record practically scintillates compared to my usual hires."

"Maybe I'm too good to leave behind a record." Legrand stared at him levelly.

"Or maybe you're just a big fish from a little pond who is out of his league."

The two henchmen snorted with laughter. Legrand continued, unfazed. "Well, I'm sure you heard about the heist at the museum last week."

"You mean that minor disturbance I read about in the papers? Sorry, my good fellow. I'm not interested in antiquated herbs." Cobblepot adjusted his bow tie with an air of finality.

"What if someone could turn them into a lethal and untraceable poison?" A chilling smile moved across Legrand's face. He pulled a syringe from his breastpocket and waved it in the air.

The crimelord paused. He licked his lips, intrigued. "That could be insulin, for all I know." He jabbed a spindly finger at the syringe.

"How about a free demonstration then?" Legrand's arm lashed out around Arthur's neck, locking him in a chokehold. But Arthur Brown was no fool. His suspicions had been steadily growing during the course of their conversation. Immediately, he punched Legrand's gut as hard as he could and then jerked his head safely away from the needle.

Legrand recovered his balance and went after Arthur. The two men exchanged several furious blows. But Arthur was the superior scrapper. He knocked Legrand to the ground within no time. Suddenly a black mass flew between them, obscuring his enemy from view.

"Batman…" Arthur recoiled.

The caped crusader glared at him from behind his dreadful mask. Out of nowhere, Cobblepot's two henchmen barrelled into Batman with throaty battle cries. He staggered backwards but did not fall. A brief scuffle ensued.

Before Arthur could gather his wits, glaring headlights washed over the fray. A pack of men leapt from an SUV, guns drawn. "Coming, Legrand?" Cobblepot offered graciously. The professor flashed Arthur a smirk and then joined his new boss in the backseat.

"Fire at will." Cobblepot ordered, ruthlessly detached. But just as they raised their guns, Nightwing landed in their midst like a raging tornado of fists and feet.

Someone was tugging at Arthur's sleeve, he realized. He looked down at a slender, black shadow. They grunted in frustration when he did not budge. He collected his composure and then followed them away from the chaos.

Together, they darted across rows of storage containers. Arthur began to wonder if the shadow even knew where they were going. He glanced about furtively. At least no one was giving chase...or so he thought.

Arthur suddenly bumped into something that felt like a brick wall. He fell to the ground with a startled yelp. Batman's hulking silhouette stood before him once more.

"No!" the shadow shrieked. They whaled on Batman with a pair of absurdly tiny fists. He barely seemed to notice.

A flurry of shouts hailed them from the end of the row. Arthur looked up at a host of officers blocking his escape route. He groaned in defeat.

"You're coming with me," Batman growled to the shadow. He scooped them up and disappeared into the night, leaving Arthur behind for the police to take care of.


	12. Choices

Batman deposited the thrashing, snarling Spoiler on a nearby rooftop. Sirens pierced through the air below as more of Gordon's men made their way to the shipyard.

"We could've escaped!" she cried, dusting herself off as she climbed to her feet. "Why did you stop us?"

"I need some answers. And you're going to give them to me." His voice rumbled in a low, ferocious growl that rattled her nerves more than she showed. "Now who was that with you? Was he your father?"

Stephanie's lips drew into a taut, angry line. She didn't care much for being bossed around. Or kidnapped. She glared at him with slits for eyes.

"Why did you tell us to go to the docks if you didn't want us to stop him?" Batman continued, unperturbed.

"He wasn't supposed to be there," she retorted. "And it was _Cobblepot_ you were supposed to stop." Stephanie froze suddenly. "Wait a minute. How did you know it was me who sent in the tip?"

"I'm a detective," he answered. "And you are?"

"The Spoiler," she declared. "But you and Nightwing have been doing all the spoiling lately." Seething anger returned to her features. "And now you've ruined everything, don't you see?"

"How's that?"

"Because now he's on his way to jail!" Stephanie stormed over to the ledge and sulked with her back to him.

"Yes, that is where criminals end up. If they're lucky."

"He's not a criminal!" Her voice rose sharply. "He's not one of your bad guys, okay?"

Batman ignored her impassioned defense."The man who got away with Cobblepot, how long has he been your father's partner?"

"You already caught my dad's partner. I-" Too late she realized that he had tricked her into confirming his first question. She groaned. "Ok look. Legrand's just some guy who roped him into a job. Thanks to him-and you guys-I won't see my dad again for a long time." She kicked a pebble over the edge with the last of her fire and then dropped to her knees, staring at the ground in bitter resignation.

To her surprise, the dark knight walked over and crouched beside her. "We all make our own choices. Your father made his. Don't give that credit to anyone else."

The police activity began to dwindle below. Stephanie thought about her father being booked into a cell. There would be no Stooges tonight after all. No going over photo albums when neither could sleep. No more take-out picnics on the living room floor. With his record, he'd probably be gone for her next birthday, too.

"So tell me about your choice," the dark knight continued, his voice much gentler now. "Why did you become the Spoiler?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Detective?" she quipped.

"I know you were trying to protect your father," he said, glossing over her petulance. "If we shut down Cobblepot, your father wouldn't have to work for him anymore. That was your goal, wasn't it? But you could've accomplished that without the costume. You could've just kept phoning in the tips. Why take it a step further?"

"You're wrong," she shot back. "You might care about all these other people. Well, I don't. I only care about my dad."

"I don't think that's true."

She flashed him a vicious scowl. "You don't know me, okay? You don't know what I've been through. He was all I had left. The Spoiler is finished."

"You aren't the only one who has lost a family." He rose to his feet, standing beside her like some hulking creature of the night. His words resonated with a deep and abiding passion as he continued. "The thing is, those of us who survive, we get a chance to fight back. We get a chance to prove to ourselves that we aren't like them-that we aren't like the people who stole from us. I think you were looking for that chance."

Stephanie chewed on her lip, trying to deny his words entry. A stiff wind pulled her hood to her shoulders. She shivered and reached up to replace it over her head. Then she noticed-the dark knight was gone. But his message remained.

* * *

 **A/N: For Batman's little speech at the end, I am paraphrasing from one of his actual speeches from the comics. It's some of my most favorite lines ever from the series, and I thought its message fit really well in this scene. Just wanted you guys to know 1) how awesome the comics can be and 2) that I can't claim credit for it. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review, I thrive on feedback, and it's always the best feeling to know that someone else is enjoying my work.**


	13. Stephanie's Choice

**A/N:** **HPGreen934, thanks so much for the review and the well wishes! I'm so glad you enjoyed my first story! Hopefully you like this one as well :-)**

 **Ninachick, Sorry, I could've made it more clear, but yes the shadow was Stephanie/Spoiler. We're about to see quite a bit more of her! I hope you like her!**

* * *

Stephanie climbed through her bedroom window, not bothering to be quiet like she normally did. The apartment would be painfully empty tonight-just like her stomach. She flopped down onto the mattress, hoping sleep would come swiftly and take her away from that day's awful turn of events.

"Stephanie?" Someone was prodding her awake. She grumbled a protest. "Stephanie! Wake up!" Her father was standing over her, dishevelled and bloody.

" _Dad?!"_ She bolted upright. "I don't understand-"

"Neither do I." He was staring at her clothes. Stephanie's heart sank. She had forgotten to change out of her Spoiler suit.

"Look, I can explain-"

"I'm sure you can," Arthur mumbled bitterly. "But there's no time right now. Get your stuff, we have to leave." He threw her a bag.

"Leave?" she echoed. "What's going on? Oh no..." A grim realization washed over her. "Tell me you didn't break out of jail, dad."

"I saw a chance and I took it, okay? I made my choice. Now come on, the cops will be here any minute."

"You made your choice…" she whispered. Batman's words rang in her head. She let the bag fall from her hands. "No." Her statement was softly spoken but undeniably resolute.

Arthur stared at his daughter, bewildered. "No? Stephanie, what's gotten into you?"

She locked eyes with him. Tears swam in her vision. "I asked you not to go tonight. Why did you go?"

Arthur stumbled backwards under the weight of a new revelation. "It was you, wasn't it? Tipping off the cops all this time?"

"Cobblepot is a lunatic! A _dangerous_ lunatic! I didn't want you to work for him anymore," she cried. "But I knew I couldn't talk you out of it. I-"

"Do you realize what you've done? We've lost everything now, Stephanie!" Arthur ruddied with frustration. "Aren't you tired of losing?"

She stood in wounded silence, her heart torn.

"Well _I'm_ tired of losing. And now it's my turn to take back." Arthur hurried to the kitchen and started stuffing his bag with supplies.

"No, dad. We can't be like them." Arthur turned around to find Stephanie behind him once more. Her childlike face seemed suddenly older, wiser.

"Like who?"

"Like the ones who stole from us," she replied. "Like the ones who killed mom. Please, don't do this. There's still time for you to make the right choice-"

"There's no time at all! Now go get your things. We don't need Gotham anymore. We can start over somewhere else. Both of us."

"But mom-"

"What about her? This is where she died, Stephanie!" His daughter winced at the reminder.

"This is also where she _lived_. She loved Gotham. She said it always had a way with her, remember?"

Arthur shook his head, not wishing to remember. "Your mother is gone. It's time for us to be gone, too."

But Stephanie didn't budge. "I'm sorry, dad," she said, her voice breaking. Slowly, one hand reached for the telephone.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" Arthur froze. Panic flared in his chest.

"The right thing," she said, staring back at him ruefully.

"You don't have to do this!"

"I love you, dad. That's _why_ I have to do this." Her hand trembled over the number pad. "Even if you hate my guts, at least you'll be safe. Safer than out there."

"Please. Listen to me, Stephanie," he pleaded. "Don't make me run again."

Tears poured silently down her cheeks. "Don't make me chase you."

After a few tense moments, Arthur slumped over the table, conceding defeat. He listened as she made the call. Then he listened to her footsteps coming to his side.

Stephanie reached for his hand, but he jerked it away. "Get out of here," he growled. She cringed at the harshness of his tone. "Just in case…" he said, softer this time. "In case Legrand comes looking for me."

She nodded obediently. "I do love you," Stephanie whispered. And then she was gone.


	14. Homeless and Hungry

**A/N: Ninjachick you are so sweet! Your comments always make my day :-). For my story, Stephanie just turned 14 years old.**

* * *

Living on the streets was hard. And it had only been a week. Stephanie waited impatiently outside of the restaurant side door, remembering how her father used to raid their delivery trucks the last time they were homeless. He had taught her a lot of tricks about how to get by, like stuffing your clothes with paper to keep out the cold. His advice came in handy now.

She sighed, venting her aggravation. The delivery truck was late. Every minute felt like a decade on an empty stomach. Above her, the last strokes of evening were fading into night. Yellow squares of light fell over the alley as citizens returned to their apartments. Stephanie felt like she was always on the outside, looking in. It was a tiring way to live.

Finally, the chugging of an engine filled the narrow alley. Stephanie crouched lower behind the garbage bins. It would take the driver several trips to unload everything. And between loads, she would have a chance to snatch some dinner.

"No, _please_!" A woman shrieked. Stephanie's attention whipped to the end of the alley. The woman was locked in a tug-of-war match over her purse. A man in black snarled at the unexpected resistance. He kicked her ruthlessly in the gut, sending her reeling backwards.

Stephanie glanced at the truck. The driver had just opened his door, clipboard tucked under one arm. Her heart battled with her stomach. She wouldn't have enough time to answer the promptings of both.

The robber's victim groaned from the pavement. Curly brown hair fell across her face. She pushed it back with a trembling hand.

"You're lucky I'm not taking more," the robber growled, snatching the purse from her lap. He turned and raced down the alley with it, nearly bowling over the truck driver on his way. Out of nowhere, a trash can lid collided with his head. As he tumbled to the ground, the purse went flying.

Stephanie picked it up and flung it towards its owner. "Thank-you!" the woman cried, darting forward to claim it. But before Stephanie could say anything, the robber had recovered from his shock and struck her down with a punishing blow.

"That's going to cost you," he promised, eyes flooding with anger. His boot flew into the side of her face. And that was all she remembered.


	15. Breakfast

**A/N: Two chapters in one day for you! :-)**

* * *

Stephanie heard the sound of curtains sliding along a rod. Her surroundings suddenly brightened, pulling the young girl away from the depths of sleep. An irritated groan escaped her lips.

"I believe it was John Gunther who said 'all happiness depends on a leisurely breakfast.'" A voice said. Each word was heavily laden with a British accent. "Which explains why breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Stephanie cracked one eye open. A man with neatly-brushed snow white hair placed a tray on the bed beside her. The smell of maple and pecans wafted to her nose, reminding the girl of how hungry she was.

She sat up warily. "What am I doing here?"

"Recovering," came the simple answer.

"But...who are you?"

"Alfred Pennyworth," he replied, gracing her with a shallow bow. "Butler of Batman."

"He has a _butler_?"

"Surely you don't think he does his own laundry?" The old man winked and handed her a silver spoon. "Now eat. You can't expect to heal without proper nutrition."

Stephanie's head throbbed at the reminder. Her hand flew to a neat line of stitches across her cheek.

"Who fixed me up?"

"I did. I'm also a medic."

"Of course you are." She wrinkled her nose. "What else do you do for him?"

"Lecture him about taking in strays. He seems to have a penchant for it." The butler's face grew long and exasperated.

"You mean Batman brought me here?"

"Yes. And your breakfast is growing cold."

Stephanie turned her attention to the oatmeal and took a tentative bite. Her eyes widened. Never before in her life had food tasted so delicious and comforting.

The rest was downed with marvelous gusto. When she glanced up again at Alfred, he looked as though he might burst into tears of joy. "Is this homemade?'

"Indeed. It is an old family recipe." He winked again. "And one of the secrets you won't be privy to around here."

"One of many, I'm sure," she mumbled. "At least I'll be well-fed in my new prison."

"Prison?" The butler laughed heartily. "Get your rest, Miss Brown." He turned and walked towards the door.

"Hey, how did you know my name?" she called after him.

"We do our research around here. Especially when it comes to hiring help."

"Help? But I'm not-I haven't-Mr. Pennyworth, wait! I have more questions!"

"He'll be along to speak with you soon. And it's just Alfred, thank-you." The butler closed the door without further ado.

Stephanie's heart thumped in her chest, daring to hope. A cold spring morning brightened the window, but she was safe from its frigid touch. And with a full belly! Was this really where Batman lived? She looked around, taking in as much detail as she could. A canopy draped over the posters of her bed, which rose into the air like four gaudy towers. A few dressers and tables sat opposite. Dreadful, dated wallpaper matched the dreadful, dated curtains. Somehow, it wasn't what she had expected from the dark knight. " _Did I expect him to live in a cave like a real bat?"_ she thought, chuckling softly.

Then an idea crossed Stephanie's mind. Perhaps she could discern some kind of personality, some kind of story, from the rest of the house. She pushed back the covers of her bed. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a quick look around...


	16. A Chance

Stephanie felt as though she were in a castle of some kind, with stone walls and high, lofty ceilings. Dusty sunlight floated in through a series of windows that lined up like soldiers in formation. Numerous parlors and sitting rooms branched off from the main hall, each larger than the last.

Everything was orderly and clean-too much so to be lived in. Here was an armchair pulled up to a window, angled towards a lovely view of blossoming dogwoods. But its cushions were crisp and its pillows pristine. Beyond that was a bookshelf, lightly dusted with age. But no fingerprints disturbed its surface and every spine stood uncreased. It was almost like the mansion was a facade of some sort, a replica of some bygone life that still walked the halls as a living ghost.

Then Stephanie paused in front of the doorway of a small room. This one was different, not only in size, but in sentiment. Here she spied picture frames atop a worn-looking fireplace and sheets of paper scattered across a desk. The young girl smiled. Finally, she had found signs of life.

She approached the mantle with bated breath. What kind of pictures did the dark knight keep on display? Were they even people he knew, or was this just another facade? The same couple appeared in most of the frames, though sometimes a little boy posed with them. All of the photographs looked old and faded-all except for one, that is.

Stephanie picked up the discrepancy. A little dark-haired girl smiled back at her. She held a pencil against a drawing pad on her lap. Her eyes were also dark, and reminded Stephanie of the night in a haunting sort of way.

"How did you get in here?!"

Stephanie dropped the frame in surprise. It shattered at her feet with an ugly sound. She spun around to discover a figure darkening the doorway.

He was young and handsome, with a certain valor built into his features. Sweatpants and a plain T-shirt hinted at his powerfully built physique. He glared at the broken picture with quiet rage.

"I'm sorry," she muttered hastily, bending down to retrieve the photograph.

"No-don't touch it!" He stormed into the room and snatched it from her fingers. "What are you doing here anyways?"

"She was injured and alone," a voice rumbled. Both of their heads whipped up. Another gentleman stood in the threshold. His wavy black hair was combed back, giving him a distinctive, polished look. Stephanie could see the age around his eyes, as well as a deep weariness. Yet his countenance was a kind one.

"So you brought her here?" the young man exclaimed. "She's nothing but trouble."

"She was just trying to help, Blake."

"She's a thief! A rogue! You can't honestly believe this was a good idea, Bruce. You can't honestly believe she's like us."

Stephanie fidgeted. She suddenly regretted leaving her room. Yet that name-Bruce. It pulled at something in her memory. His face seemed suddenly familiar.

"Let's discuss this somewhere else, please." Bruce nodded at the younger man, who scowled fiercely but left the room without further protest.

Then it dawned on the young girl. Yes, she _had_ seen his face before. Nearly everyone in Gotham had at some point or another. "Bruce? As in Bruce _Wayne?"_ she blurted out.

He flashed her a knowing smile before exiting the study. Her mind raced in the ensuing solitude. Rumors of the billionaire playboy seemed incongruent with her experience of the dark knight. She was surprised to feel a pang of pity for the man. It must be difficult, to wear a mask all the time. Stephanie couldn't help but wonder which was heavier, the mask he wore during the day or the mask he wore during the night.

* * *

Once they were a safe distance down the hall, Blake whirled on his mentor. "How could you do this behind my back?"

""Look, I need you to trust me on this," Bruce insisted firmly.

"It's _her_ I don't trust."

"She saved your life back at the museum, didn't she?"

Blake scrunched his face with indignation. "I had everything under control! I've taken on guys like Legrand a hundred times."

"What about the guard?" Bruce's question made the young man pause. "You said she gave up the urn to stop him from killing the guard. She has an innate respect for life, even when it gets in the way of her mission."

"Respect? Nothing about her says respect," Blake scoffed.

A wry smile crossed Bruce's face. "She's rough around the edges, sure. But I think there's more to her than meets the eye. She could be good for Gotham."

"She's just a liability-a _kid_ for crying out loud! What do you think she can actually accomplish out there?"

"Shadow was younger than that when she helped me save the city from her father."

" _She isn't Shadow!"_ Anger flared in the young man's eyes.

"No, she isn't. And you must not punish her for that." Bruce's sternness softened suddenly. "Listen, Blake…when I first became Batman, I found myself walking along the edge of an abyss every time I went out there. It was the edge between self-sacrifice and self-destruction. Shadow became my tether, keeping me from being truly alone. She was never afraid of the darkness. Trust me when I say that I see a similar spark in Stephanie."

Blake's jaw clenched as Bruce stepped closer and continued. "You see, people like us...we need a team. It took me too long to realize that. Don't make the same mistake I did."

"I already have a team. _You_ gave me a big speech about that. It's Batman and Nightwing. We don't need Spoiler."

"I can't do this forever, Blake, though I certainly aim to try. And what then? Shadow wouldn't want you to carry this mantle alone. She wouldn't want you to keep living in the rubble of that day. Please...give Stephanie a chance."

He shook his head vigorously. "I don't really have a choice, do I? You always call the shots. Well, go ahead. Risk our operation on one little girl. But for the record, I think you're wrong. She'll never amount to much." He stormed off before Bruce could form another counter.

His mentor's shoulders heaved with a sigh as he watched him disappear down the long length of the hallway. He could see Blake faltering on the edge of that abyss, his tether taken too soon. And every night, Bruce prayed that he would not fall in.


	17. Just a Thief

**A/N: Once again, two chapters for you in the same day! :-) Enjoy!**

* * *

When Bruce returned to the study, he found Stephanie cleaning up the broken pieces of a picture frame. She looked at him sheepishly as he approached.

"Where did he go?" she asked, noting Blake's conspicuous absence. "Is he mad...because of me?"

Bruce smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry about Blake. For now, I'd be more worried about Alfred. He's going to be _furious_."

"I didn't mean to break it," she insisted, gingerly picking up another piece of glass. "I was just looking around-"

"Not about that. About getting out of bed. Come on-if we hurry, maybe we can get you back in there before he notices."

* * *

Stephanie climbed between the sheets, gritting her teeth against the dull throbbing of her headache.

"I saw what you did in that alley," Bruce said once she had settled in. "I thought you didn't care about other people?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I guess I'm a sucker."

He smiled at her and sat on the edge of the bed. "You also turned your father in."

That time, she didn't have a witty response.

"After I found out, I started looking for you," he continued. "You're pretty good at flying under the radar, you know that?"

Stephanie let herself smile just a little bit. Then she cleared her throat. "So that guy, Blake...is he…?"

"Nightwing, yes."

"He doesn't want me here, does he?"

Bruce caught a rare note of vulnerability in her voice. He took a deep breath and clasped his hands together. "Blake has been through a lot lately. We all have, ever since…" He trailed off, deciding against burdening the young girl with their tragedy right then. "Just give him some time-and some space."

Stephanie nodded, but did not look heartened. "He was right, though. I'm not like you guys. He's saved so many people, he probably doesn't even remember-" She stopped short. She had never told anybody about that night, not even her father.

Bruce tilted his head, intrigued. "Remember what?"

"The first time we met," she replied, casting her memory back. "It was a few years ago, right before you guys took out Bane. I was a thief then, too. He stopped a bunch of punks from beating me up for stealing their dinner. You should have seen the way we took care of them!" Stephanie's eyes shone with the fondness of the memory. "I was so used to taking care of myself. For once, it...it felt nice to imagine I was part of a team. To imagine I was more than just a thief."

Bruce's expression grew solemn. "I don't think you're just a thief, Stephanie. I think you're going to surprise a lot of people. Including yourself."

The young girl scoffed. The whole situation seemed suddenly absurd to her. Perhaps she was still lying in that alley, unconscious and dreaming.

"So Bruce Wayne huh?" She turned and studied his face thoughtfully. "I've seen you on TV before. I thought you lived with supermodels or something, not an old guy named Alfred."

He laughed sincerely. "See, nobody knows this, but Alfred is my secret weapon."

She chuckled. "Well, you certainly had me. I never expected a rich, spoiled jerk to be the man behind the mask."

" _Exactly_." He stood up and stretched, preparing to leave. Stephanie realized suddenly that she didn't want him to. It had been a long time since anyone treated her like more than just a froward child.

"Still. Must be nice to have all this money," she said. "It explains why your suit is so much better than mine."

Again he laughed. "Then I guess we'll have to give yours a few touch-ups."

Her eyes widened. "You mean-but Blake-"

"Let me worry about Blake. Anyways, we could use your help. You have inside knowledge of Cobblepot and his organization." He proffered a business-like hand in her direction. "Work with us, and I'll throw in free room and board. What do you say?"

A smile crept its way across her face. If this was a dream, then she didn't want to wake up. "Fine. But on one condition."

He raised an eyebrow. "And that is…?"

"You have to show me some your moves."

Bruce took her hand and shook it firmly. "I will," he promised. "But just remember-you asked for it!"

* * *

 **A/N for newcomers: The event Stephanie mentioned is covered in Ch. 73 of The Dark Knight's Shadow (The Thief). You don't have to read it; I've already given you what you need to know for the sake of this story. But just in case you were curious :-). Also, the chapter before and after (so 72-74) are good ones to read for those of you who haven't met Shadow yet. It will give you a glimpse into the old Blake, too.**


	18. Putting Down Roots

Neon blue lights buzzed above the busy street. Clamoring crowds of people waited their turn to enter the Iceberg Lounge, Gotham's newest night club. To the public it was a posh and exclusive discotheque. But its walls hid Cobblepot's sinister secrets-and his armory. In windowless back rooms, inventory was exchanged for information. Even Salvatore Maroni had been spotted making a deal or two. Thus, the new crimelord quietly and successfully was able to gain a foothold in the city.

Legrand revelled in his new, nefarious life with his new, nefarious partner. But something nagged at the back of his mind. For the past two weeks he had checked the papers every morning. But still, he could find no report of Pamela's death. Surely the poison had worked? Cobblepot had tested it on his least favorite henchman with glowing success. No, she could not have survived. At least that's what Legrand told himself.

He threw back the rest of his drink and then made his way across the hazy dance floor. A pulsing beat reverberated against his bones as he passed beneath an ominously dark archway. Two hulking brutes guarded a nondescript door at the end of the corridor.

"Remus. Donny." He nodded a greeting. Their scowls remained. Neither acknowledged Legrand, but they moved aside and let him through.

Moments later, another figure approached. A woman in a shimmering green dress sauntered up to the guards, brimming with confidence.

"No guests allowed," Remus growled.

"You don't understand," the woman said. "I'm here for business."

"No solicitors." The two men stood shoulder to shoulder, solid as a wall.

"Doesn't that depend on what I'm soliciting?" She flashed them a coy smile. Beads of sweat began to sheen on Donny's forehead. The smell of her perfume was strong, overpowering. It seeped into his brain like a fog.

"Move along," Remus snapped. But he could feel his own composure crumbling with every whiff of that sweet, floral scent.

"Look at you two, standing here like faithful guard dogs. I'll bet he works you to the bone." She ran a hand across Donny's chest and then let it wander up to Remus' chin. "Help me out a little and I can give you relief," she promised. "Sweet, sweet relief…"

"You heard the lady," Donny said, elbowing his partner. "What could it hurt?"

Remus shook his head, trying to clear the arousing thoughts running rampant through his mind. "'What could it hurt?' You know who we work for, don't you?"

"Oh, don't worry about Cobblepot," the woman assured. "Whoever lets me through gets to be _my_ new employee. And...perhaps...something more."

"I said get out of the way," Donny rasped to his partner with sudden urgency.

Remus' breath caught in his throat at the hint in her eyes. "Not on your life, chump!" He swung a massive fist at Donny's head. Donny countered with an equally brutal blow. Adrenaline surged through their veins as they attacked one another in a hormone-induced rage.

Remus roared and charged at his partner like a rhino. The two men crashed into the door, splintering it upon impact. An assortment of men looked up as Remus and Donny tumbled through the wreckage together, still locked in their vicious battle.

"What the hell is going on here?" Cobblepot rose from the table, leaning on his umbrella with daggers for eyes.

"I'm afraid this is all my fault," a silken voice slithered through the air. A pair of long, graceful legs stepped through the doorway. Her dress glittered as she entered the dim circle of light. Cobblepot's men leapt to their feet, guns drawn and pointed at the voluptuous figure.

"Come on now, boys. Take a good look. Where would I be hiding a gun?" She ran her hands along her hips. The sweet fragrance of her perfume wafted into the stuffy little room. A few of the men licked their lips. Several others wiped their brows.

Legrand stood rooted to the spot, pale as a ghost. Pamela's smile broadened when she caught sight of him. "Hello, lover. Did you miss me? I missed _you_. In fact, I haven't been able to get you off of my mind."

Cobblepot snarled silently. "You two are acquainted, I take it? Legrand, what the hell is this about?" But Legrand was too stunned to speak.

"I think his tongue is tied, dearie. No worries. I can speak for myself." Pamela turned to the pair of hulks still beating each other to a pulp.

"You-" she pointed to Remus, who immediately dropped Donny to the floor. "Be a doll and take care of those guns for me? They're far too distracting."

Cobblepot scoffed. "Remus doesn't take orders from you, Miss," he sneered. "I own the muscle in this tow-" The words died in his throat as Remus wrenched a gun from the nearest henchman and punched him squarely on the nose. His body hit the floor with a thud. The other men pitched nervous glances between Remus and their boss.

"I suggest you drop your guns," Pamela said. "Or else it might get awful messy in here." A cacophonous clatter ensued as they all obeyed.

Cobblepot's eyes bugged out of his head. "Who do you think you are?" he demanded.

"Call me Poison Ivy," she replied smugly. "One touch, and you'll never be able to get rid of me."

"What exactly do you want, Miss Ivy?"

"I want him." She nodded towards the stricken Legrand. "See, he's the one who convinced me to come to Gotham. You were right, Marc. The possibilities here are endless! I've decided to stay; put down roots. I can really see myself growing in a place like this."

"I've already made a deal with him, I'm afraid," Cobblepot said.

"How about I take his place then. I've heard you are quite the talented thief?"

"I am not a thief," Cobblepot demurred. "I just have a habit of acquiring things that aren't mine."

"Well, there are a few things I am interested in acquiring. Rare and exotic herbs, for example."

"And what's in it for me?" he asked, wary but intrigued. "A comely lady such as yourself would only be a liability."

"Well, if it's muscle you want, then how about I throw in Batman and Nightwing?"

Cobblepot's brow furrowed. " _What did you say_?"

Pamela ran her fingers through her flame colored hair. A look of intense smugness exuded from her eyes. "I could have them working for me in no time."

An incredulous laugh erupted from Cobblepot's throat. "You're new to this town, aren't you? Those two are disgustingly noble creatures."

"No. Underneath those ridiculous costumes they are merely men. And _men_ I can handle." She rested her hands on her hips. "The way I handled Remus here. Have you heard of pheromones, Mr. Cobblepot?"

"Pheromones?"

"Yes. They make a lovely perfume. See, I'm not just a beauty. I also have brains-and a degree in biochemistry. I'm the one who made Marc's poison." She pulled a syringe from a fold in her dress. "And that's not all I can make. Marc, honey, be a sweetheart and test this one out for me."

Cobblepot's eyes smiled with wicked delight. "Yes, yes" he said slowly. "Accommodate the lady, will you?"

Legrand's heart leapt into his throat. "What-what-no!"

"'Don't worry, my love. It won't kill you. See, if Gotham's heroes are as noble as we fear, then my pheromones will only get me so far. I may need something stronger." She turned to the colossal brute standing patiently at her side. "Remus, fetch him for me."

Legrand shrank back against the wall. "Don't do this, Cobblepot! I thought _I_ was your partner!"

"Sorry, chap. You know how it is." He smiled at him, feigning sympathy. "It is a sad fact, that there is no honor among thieves."

The crimelord settled back into his chair. His face lit up with anticipation as Remus restrained the screaming Legrand. Things were looking decidedly up for Cobblepot. If Poison Ivy's serum worked, then Gotham would soon be his for the taking.


	19. Adapting

As Stephanie's first month at the manor passed, Bruce found that the young girl's presence relieved a deep, dull ache. She was a tremendously different child than Shadow had been. In many ways, Stephanie was even her opposite.

If Shadow was always reminiscent of the night, then Stephanie's visage was the day. Her hair fell like sunlight and her eyes sparkled blue as a summer sky. She was far too pretty to blend in among strangers, as was Shadow's talent. And while the League had imparted Shadow with heavy-handed sentiments like honor and duty, Stephanie was much more unencumbered. Her flippancy often shocked Bruce in a way that he found rather amusing (and sometimes, rather not).

But there were also abiding similarities. Bruce could sense a staunch devotion beneath her guise of impertinence. And once Stephanie's mind was made up on a course of action, nothing could sway her resolve. She possessed the same strength of will as her predecessor, and for their line of work, it could mean everything one day. Just as it had for Shadow.

As promised, Bruce trained the girl every chance they got. Progress was slow; still, her determination never waned. Neither did Bruce's.

"Faster!" he demanded one evening. They had been training for several hours already. Exhausted as she was, Stephanie sprang at the dummy with a series of hooks and elbow jabs.

"How did I do that time?" she panted, leaning onto her knees.

"Hmmm. Here, try it on me." Bruce beckoned her over and then raised his fists defensively.

She grinned, poising herself for the challenge. "Alright, Batman," she smirked. "You asked for it!" But just as she began the set, he shot out one of his legs and swept her to the ground.

"Hey, that's not fair!" She clambered to her feet and placed her hands on her hips. "I thought we were working on upper body moves."

"The best weapon you can have in your arsenal isn't a batarang or a smoke bomb. It's the ability to adapt. Now come on, let's try again."

Stephanie lifted her hands in a boxer's stance, just like her father once taught her. This time, she was ready for him. When his leg lashed out, she dodged it with a small leap and then hooked him in the side. "Good! _Good!_ " he praised. "Keep at it!"

Meanwhile, a figure had entered the room. Blake leaned against the wall, observing in sullen silence. He refused to see anything but a defiant teenager. Though Shadow was long gone, he couldn't help but feel like they were somehow leaving her behind. To him, Stephanie's presence only served as a reminder of that which they had lost.

After one more round of sparring, he postured up and cleared his throat. "Dinner is ready," Blake announced.

"Alright, let's get out of here," Bruce ordered his trainee. She excitedly began removing her gear. Alfred's cooking was one of her favorite things about living in Wayne Manor. It endeared Stephanie to the old butler, making her insolence more forgivable.

Bruce turned his attention to the loitering young man. "What do you think?" he asked, grinning expectantly.

"She'll get herself killed out there," Blake replied. He pushed away from the wall and made for the door. Stephanie's face tightened as she tried to appear unmoved.

"Hey, you were a beginner once," Bruce scolded.

"So what? You were, too," Blake shot back over his shoulder.

"Nah. Batman was never a beginner."

Blake stopped. Slowly, he turned around. Bruce's face was completely deadpan, but his eyes seemed to glimmer with a mischievous invitation. "Are you...are you asking for some of this?"

Bruce's grin returned. "Like I'm worried about _Nightwing._ "

"Alright, that's it!"

Stephanie's eyes flew wide as Blake tackled their mentor. She watched avidly while the two men rolled in a fantastic display of strength and skill.

"Should I call Alfred?" she joked. Intermittent laughter rose up from the scuffle.

"Don't worry. Everything's taken care of," Bruce said, pinning down his ward in a painful bicep slicer.

"Okay, okay!" Blake relented. "Get off of me, will you?"

Bruce leapt to his feet with a victorious smirk. Stephanie rushed forward and held out her hand to the young man on the ground. "It looks like you could use some help," she quipped. He paused, sobering in the face of her gesture.

Bruce paused, too. His eyes softened in the momentary silence. "Come on, Stephanie. Alfred will be disappointed if you of all people are late to dinner."

She nodded, looking a bit sheepish, and withdrew her hand. Then she joined him in leaving for the dining hall. Blake blew out a heavy sigh. There were moments when it felt as if he and Bruce were returning to an old, familiar place together. But there were also sharp reminders that things would never again be the same. Perhaps Stephanie wasn't the only one who needed to learn how to adapt.

* * *

"Hey, um, what are you up to?"

Stephanie looked up, surprised. Blake stood at the foot of the couch, hands in his pockets. It was dark outside now, and Bruce and Alfred had busied themselves elsewhere.

"Oh, I was just going to watch some TV," she answered. "My favorite show is about to come on. Ever watch The Three Stooges?"

Blake shook his head. "Nope."

Her face lit up. "You'd love them! They're all complete idiots. It's hilarious." She moved over even though there was already ample space. Blake hesitated for a moment, then conceded and took the cushion next to her.

"So what kind of TV do you normally watch?" she asked.

"To tell you the truth, I don't really watch TV."

"No wonder you're such a square!"

Blake burst out laughing. "Of all the things I've been called, no one has ever accused me of being a square."

"There's a first time for everything," Stephanie shrugged. "Oh! I'll go get us some food!"

The young man balked. "We just ate! Aren't you ever full?"

"Have you _seen_ the pantry in there? It's like the eighth wonder of the world!" She hopped to her feet. "Be right back! Stay here, okay?" There was a sudden earnestness in her voice that tugged at Blake's heartstrings.

"I will," he promised. She smiled and then dashed away. Tinny, orchestral music blared from the television as the opening titles appeared. Blake found himself smiling, too, as he awaited her return.

She came back with a plate full of toast. "Sorry," she apologized. "It's one of the only things I can make." Blake chuckled softly and took a piece anyways. But his demeanor instantly changed after he took the first bite.

"What is this?" he asked, straightening abruptly.

"What, the jam? It's rhubarb! I figured it was somebody's favorite, maybe yours, because there's a whole cupboard full of the stuff. Hey, where are you going?"

Blake had dropped the toast back onto the plate and climbed to his feet. "I'm...I'm more tired than I thought. Good-night, Stephanie."

Her face fell as she watched him trudge from the room. The merry symphony playing on the television seemed suddenly hollow. Stephanie set the plate of toast down on a side table and pushed it away. Even she didn't have an appetite anymore.


	20. Trust Issues

A light drizzle fell over Gotham City, extinguishing stars from the nighttime sky. Half a moon sulked behind the haze of clouds. A single shaft of light blazed through the darkness, searing the sky with a foreboding silhouette.

Gordon waited patiently beside the Bat Signal, folding his arms against a chill in the air. He waited to hear the flap of a cape or the soft touch of a boot that usually alerted him to company. Instead, the loud clang of a grappling hook gave him a start. It dragged across the cement towards the ledge.

" _Shit_!" someone shouted. The hook caught at the last second and pulled taut with a jerk.

"You overshot it! And how many times do I have to tell you to watch your language?" Nightwing's exasperated voice followed the debacle.

"You're being a square again," came the retort.

"I'm just following our code of honor."

"I thought you were heroes, not saints."

"Batman, back me up here-"

"Quiet, both of you!" the dark knight growled. "Or you can go straight back to the Bat Cave."

One of them muttered something incoherently. Batman appeared over the ledge with a graceful bound, followed shortly by Nightwing. A third, smaller figure pulled herself up with more effort.

"And who is this?" Gordon asked, trying to stifle his amusement. The newcomer dusted herself off and then stood with her hands on her hips in a defiant sort of way. Her bodysuit was sleek and black, with purple accents that matched a flowing cape. A dark mesh-like mask covered her head beneath an oversized hood, making her appear eerily faceless.

"Commissioner Gordon, meet Spoiler." Batman said. "Spoiler, this is our oldest and closest ally."

Gordon nodded amicably. "A new team member?" Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Nightwing wince.

"She's just helping us with Cobblepot," the young man stated. There was a sharp edge in his voice that deflated her defiance.

"Well speaking of Cobblepot," Gordon said. "I have some disturbing news."

"What is it?" Batman inquired.

"Our sources picked up a rumor about his next export. No artifacts this time. Apparently he's moved on to...living...merchandise." A graveness seeped into the commissioner's countenance.

"You think he's dealing in human trafficking?" Nightwing stepped forward, his face wrenched with concern.

"Sure sounds like it."

"No, that can't be right," Stephanie interjected. "I mean, he's never been hung up on morals. But that's not his M.O. He doesn't even have the right clientele for that kind of thing."

"Maybe he's branching out," Nightwing countered.

"Or maybe the sources are wrong."

"No." Gordon shook his head. "Our sources have never led us astray."

"Except for the night of the museum heist." Nightwing threw her a pointed glare. She shuffled her feet uncomfortably.

The commissioner read her sudden silence. "It was you? You were the anonymous tipper?"

"Yes," she admitted. "That was me."

"I see…" Gordon mulled over something in his head. "Then do you know where Cobblepot keeps his inventory?"

She hesitated, looking to Batman as if for permission. He urged her on with a silent nod.

"I do. He runs most of his operations out of a club called the Iceberg Lounge."

Recognition flickered in the commissioner's eyes. "I've heard of that place. It has a reputation among people who make more money than I do. Do you think he'd stow his victims there?"

"Maybe. But I still don't think-"

"We'll need to scope it out," Nightwing said, cutting her short.

"I agree," Batman concurred. "Nightwing, Spoiler-go on ahead. I'll catch up in a minute."

Spoiler huffed in frustration. "But what if-"

" _Now_."

Nightwing glanced at her with a stern expression. "You heard him." Reluctantly, she turned and followed the young man over the ledge.

Gordon removed his glasses and wiped them off with a sleeve. "Another apprentice, eh?" he said, sending the dark knight a grin. "I'm beginning to think you have a soft spot, old friend."

Batman made no acknowledgment that he had heard anything, casting his gaze to the steel horizon instead. "She was protecting someone-the night of the museum heist. That's why she gave us a false lead."

Gordon nodded slowly. "Still. Are you sure she can be trusted?"

"I believe so." Batman's cape sheened with droplets of rain as he spoke. "She's got the fight, the spirit. She just needs a little guidance, that's all."

"And Nightwing?"

"What about him?"

"Well, perhaps it's not my place, but...bringing someone else onboard...when he was just remembering how to be a team again...aren't you worried? About what that will do to him?"

Batman turned to face the commissioner. "Lately, I've been sensing something strange. It feels like Gotham is holding its breath, waiting. I don't know what for. Not yet. But I think when the time comes, we'll need her."

Gordon wavered. "I've felt something as well. I just...I just hope you know the difference between Gotham needing her and _you_ needing her." He wrung his hands together. "Look, I'm a father, too-"

"I"ll let you know what we learn," Batman said, ignoring the commissioner's heartfelt words. He stepped onto the ledge and dove into the night, becoming a blot of darkness beneath the sullen sky.


	21. Wretchedly Noble

"Don't you think we should wait for Batman?" Stephanie asked nervously. She crouched beside Blake in the alley behind the Iceberg Lounge. "Something doesn't feel right. The door, it's unguarded-"

"Exactly. Now is my chance."

"But Batman-he won't be happy that we went ahead without him."

Blake gritted his teeth. "Well I can't remember the last time he consulted _me_ first."

"Nightwing, don't!" She grabbed his arm when he made to leave. He looked back at her with an impatient scowl.

"You stay here and keep out of trouble, okay?"

Stephanie grumbled under her breath as she watched him dart inside the door. The alley lengthened out before her, dark and quiet. A little _too_ dark and quiet. "Hurry up, Batman," she whispered. "I think we're going to need you."

* * *

Blake moved along the wall of an empty hallway. The floor beneath his feet vibrated with the beat of muffled dance music. Finally, a small security booth came into view near the end of the passage. He held his breath and crept towards it slowly.

Stacks of televisions displayed various grainy feeds. Patrons populated every screen-every screen save for one. Blake leaned forward, trying to make out the black and white image. It was a storeroom of some kind, with crates piled high in a haphazard fashion. But there was something else, something that didn't belong. A makeshift bed had been built out of scrap pallets. Across its top stretched the figure of a woman.

Nightwing gave a start at the sudden sound of footsteps. He ducked back into the shadows. An overweight guard ambled right past him, obliviously stuffing his face with a cheese Danish.

The guard settled into the booth and wiped his fingers on his shirt. But before he could pull himself up to the desk, a hand flew over his mouth. Another arm wound around his neck.

"That storeroom on the screen-how do I get there?" A voice rasped in his ear. "And I suggest you tell me, if you want to keep all of your teeth."

The guard stopped struggling as he considered his options carefully. The hand eased off of his mouth. "T-Turn right up ahead. There's a b-big metal door at the end," he whimpered.

"Thanks," the voice hissed. "And I'm sorry about the headache you'll have when you wake up."

"When I w-" Nightwing tightened his arm, cutting off the guard's airway before he could finish his sentence. After he had passed out, Nightwing removed a ring of keys from his belt and then stuffed him beneath the desk.

Something nagged at Nightwing's mind as he followed the guard's directions. Everything had been suspiciously easy thus far. Clearly the Lounge was well populated in the front, so why were these halls empty? He thought back to Stephanie's warning, but quickly brushed it off. _Cobblepot is just getting sloppy, that's all._

The metal door swung open with a forceful groan. Nightwing cringed, glancing about uneasily. No one in sight still. He breathed a sigh of relief and closed the door behind him.

The security camera mounted on the wall shattered with one precisely thrown batarang. Someone gasped in surprise. "Who's there?" a woman's voice called out.

Nightwing emerged from behind a mountain of crates. "It's okay. Don't be afraid."

He approached her slowly with his hands lifted in a show of good faith. The apprehension evaporated from her face. "So it's you. Nightwing, right?"

He knelt in front of her. "Yes. And you are?"

"Pamela."

"Well Pamela, you're safe now. I won't let anybody hurt you anymore, okay?"

Her emerald green eyes softened. "You mean that don't you?" she asked, tilting her head. A cascade of flaming red hair fell over her shoulder.

"Of course I do. I've been told that I don't make a very good liar," he said, flashing her a grin.

"Most men are liars-at least in my experience," she said ruefully. "But...there's honesty on your face. Even with the mask."

She reached out and ran her hands along the sides of his face. A sweet, floral scent emanated from her skin. It seeped into his lungs with every breath. He could feel its tendrils enshrouding him like a mist.

He shook his head vigorously, fighting to keep hold of his senses. "So is it just you in here?"

"Well, now it's just us." She slid her hands down his shoulders and caressed the curves of his biceps. Her touch was surprisingly gentle; it made his heart give a thump. Immediately he scolded himself for it. She was beautiful, undeniably so. But it made him uncomfortable-even a tinge guilty-to notice.

"Are-are you hurt at all?" he stammered.

"I don't know. You can look me over if you'd like." A sultry glint in her eyes invited him to do so. She smiled at him graciously and inched closer, sitting on the very edge of the bed now. Beads of sweat began to collect along the line of his scalp. _When did it get so hot in here?_

Memories surged forward of their own accord, making him ache with urges he had long since buried. He could see Shadow's skin beneath his lips, pale as moonlight. He could hear peals of laughter in the dark, sounds of the purest kind of joy mingled with the deepest kind of pleasure. He could feel the sensual warmth of her hands running across his chest, searching, exploring...

 _No._ That was Pamela's hands, not Shadow's. He brushed them away hastily and cleared his throat. "Come on, we need to get you out of here."

But she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him towards her. "Yes, we can get out of here. After…"

"After? After what?" Blake swallowed hard, suspecting he already knew the answer.

She drew her face close to his, so close that he could feel her breath passing over his lips. She closed her eyes and started to close the distance.

"Stop-" he blurted out, standing abruptly.

She looked up at him with a disappointed frown. "You really are wretchedly noble, aren't you?"

A racket erupted in the hallway outside of the storeroom. "Nightwing!" Spoiler shouted amidst the noise of a bloody brawl. "Get out! It's a trap!"

Suddenly Blake felt a sharp stab of pain on the side of his neck. He cried out and staggered backwards. Pamela was standing behind him, a syringe poised in her right hand. "I'm sorry, darling," she said. "But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."

He sank to his knees, sputtering as his muscles began to seize. "P-p-poison?"

She bent down and patted his cheek. "Not the lethal kind, love. See, I need your help with something."

"I'll n-never help you," he declared through clenched teeth.

"Yes, you will. And you'll start by taking care of your friends out there."


	22. Friend or Foe

"Nightwing!" Stephanie shouted, hoping he could hear her. "Get out! It's a trap!" She ducked as a fist smashed into the wall above her head, then dove at her attacker's midsection. They clattered to the ground together in a heap. Stephanie immediately swung up her legs and wrenched him into an arm bar. There was a sickening pop as his elbow inverted. She grinned smugly, pleased with herself. _He won't be throwing punches again any time soon._

The hall filled with furious cries as another horde of men bore down on her. Stephanie sprang to her feet, awaiting them with clenched fists. But before they could reach her, a black mass barrelled into them. Men were tossed into walls as if the angry mob had imploded. A few brave ones climbed to their feet to seek retribution, but were swiftly punished by the dark knight.

Stephanie felt a wave of relief as he polished off the last enemy. Batman, however, did not look happy to see her. "Where is Nightwing?" he demanded, dropping an unconscious thug like a sack of potatoes.

"I tried to warn him!" she insisted. "Honest, I did!"

" _Where is he_?" he repeated, his voice growing more dire.

"Somewhere back here. That's where they were all headed, like they were going to ambush him-watch out!" Bullets sprayed the wall beside them. Stephanie yelped in pain as one of them grazed her arm, leaving behind a ragged, bloody trail. Batman turned and flew towards them like a vengeful demon.

Stephanie clutched her arm, leaning against a large, metal door. But it swung open unexpectedly and she found herself tumbling into a solid pair of legs.

She looked up from the ground to see a familiar face staring back at her. "Nightwing!" she cried. "You're okay!" Stephanie climbed to her feet, wincing with the effort. The air swarmed with battles cries as more and more hordes descended on the dark knight.

"Come on, we need to help Batman and get out of here!" She took his hand and pulled. "Nightwing? I said come on!"

He yanked his hand away and let it fly across her cheek. She fell back to the ground with a cry of surprise.

"What-what's gotten into you?!" She glared up at him, the side of her face smarting with a fresh bruise. "It's _me_ you big oaf!"

"And who exactly are you?" A light and breathy voice rose from the darkness beyond. Stephanie dragged herself over to a wall, pressing her back against it defensively. She watched a pair of slender, elegant legs step around to Nightwing's side.

"Call me Spoiler," she declared, trying to sound imposing. "And who the hell are you?"

"Poison Ivy. You're new around here, aren't you? Like me."

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't think we have very much in common," Stephanie sneered.

"No? But I think we do. Or at least we could. My fight is with the bird and the bat, not with you."

"Then it _is_ with me. See, I'm part of the team now."

Poison Ivy laughed. It was a breezy, delicate sound with a hint of cruelty. "I know what it's like to work with men who call all the shots. Tell me, do they treat you as an equal? Do they listen to your ideas?"

Stephanie hesitated. She glanced at Nightwing, who looked back at her with eyes as cold as a corpse. "What have you done to him?" she demanded, shirking Ivy's line of questioning.

"Oh, don't worry about him, sweetheart. Cobblepot had plans, but I think I'll keep him for myself. I could use some security in a town like this."

"Okay first of all, nobody calls me sweetheart." Stephanie rose to her feet belligerently. "Second of all, nobody steals from Batman. You just got yourself into a whole heap of trouble, lady."

Poison Ivy's lips twitched in an irritated fashion. "This one is a little too headstrong, Nightwing," she said. A disappointed sigh escaped her lips. "Get rid of her."

Stephanie's smirk fled from her face. "Nightwing-don't listen to her." She scooted up against the wall. "Stop right there, okay? Don't come any closer! _Nightwing_!"

He advanced towards her in menacing silence. Her legs felt like lead all of a sudden. As much as her mind screamed at her to flee, fear rooted her to the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut as his arm coiled for the first strike.

But Batman appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the young man around the waist and throwing him aside. "What are you doing?" he cried.

Nightwing didn't answer. Instead, he rolled to his feet and charged at his mentor without hesitation. Stephanie's heart raced as the two exchanged a flurry of blows. She could feel a thud in her chest every time one landed. Nightwing did not hold back, moving with frightful power and experience. Batman was forced to retaliate in kind. Their combat was a breath-takingly terrifying spectacle to behold.

"Stop this!" Batman bellowed. "I don't want to hurt you!" He blocked another barrage of punches. Betrayal burned in his eyes, hot as a fire.

"Yes, that's enough for now, darling," Poison Ivy said. Nightwing backed away, his fists still raised. Blood poured from his nose and dripped off his chin to the ground.

Batman's lips curled into a snarl. "What's going on here?" he asked through ragged, labored breaths. One side of his jaw looked purple and swollen.

"He's not your partner anymore. He works for me now." Ivy smiled smugly and rested one hand on Nightwing's shoulder.

The dark knight growled. "Nobody steals from me."

"I told you so," Stephanie piped up, feeling a bit more confident now.

"Don't be like this, love." Ivy sauntered towards Batman. "You could work for me, too, you know." She bit her lip seductively. He felt himself flush with something uninvited when he caught a fragrant whiff of perfume.

"No. We work for Gotham," he declared, ignoring the clamor of his masculine instincts.

"It is a great city, isn't it? Imagine what we could do for this place...together…"

Stephanie watched incredulously as Ivy traced her finger along the symbol on his chest.

He lashed out and grabbed her wrist. "Don't play games with me," he warned.

"But I love to play. Won't you play...with me?" Batman's breath grew shallow. He struggled valiantly against her allure.

"Don't listen to her, Batman!" Stephanie shouted. Her voice came to him through the perfume's fog. _The perfume._ He pushed Ivy away suddenly. She tumbled to the floor and landed at Nightwing's feet. Her eyes whipped up, enraged.

"Very well then," she said. "No more games. Nightwing-kill the one called Spoiler, but bring me the Bat."

Stephanie rushed to the safety of Batman's side. "Stay away, Nightwing," he warned, pushing the young girl behind him protectively. Their teammate drew a pair of escrima sticks from over his back. Blue webs of electricity hissed and sparked from their tips.

" _Batman_!" Stephanie shrieked as the doorway darkened with a solid wall of thugs. Her throat tightened in apprehension. They were surrounded.

"Keep close," Batman whispered to her. "Things are about to get hectic."

Something small slipped from his palm. It spun on the floor before erupting in a blinding flash of light. A confused and angry murmur rose up from the army in the doorway, followed by the sound of strangled cries.

"Stop him! Stop him, you fools!" Poison Ivy shouted. But when her vision returned, half the mob lay on the ground groaning. Nightwing was still at her side, wielding the escrima sticks and blinking in confusion.

"Let's go, darling," she said to the hero. "I'll have to find somewhere else to keep you."


	23. Bruce's Promise

Stephanie didn't sleep much that night. She found herself grateful when morning finally came. Though a red sun was rising, Wayne Manor's halls remained dark and dreary. The young girl found Bruce in the study, as she knew she would. He seemed to spend more time in there than his bedroom. His forlorn figure stood at the window, facing away from her and towards the crimson dawn. She swallowed nervously and entered.

"Bruce?" Her voice cleft the heavy silence. He turned his head but said nothing.

"I-I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I should've tried harder to make him wait-"

"No, Steph. It's my fault." He made his way over to an old, padded chair in front of the fireplace and sank into its cushions. "I pushed him too hard, too soon. And now, I may have pushed him over that edge. It's just...I thought he was strong enough."

"How could it be your fault? You weren't even there."

"I know. I wasn't there for him."

"That's not what I meant-"

"Even though he was always there for us, always so full of hope…" Bruce's voice grew soft and distant as if he were talking to himself. He shook his head and sighed. "I should've guarded that hope better. What if I can't keep my promise to her? What if I really have lost them both?"

"Both? Bruce, you aren't making any sense." She approached him slowly, regarding her mentor with concern. "What did Poison Ivy do to you guys?"

He didn't seem to hear her. They were interrupted then by somebody clearing their throat from the threshold.

"I've made some fantastic strawberry crepes," Alfred announced. "Won't you two come down and give them a try?"

"I'm not hungry," Bruce grumbled.

Stephanie wavered, glancing at the sullen man with a pang of sympathy. "Maybe later…"

"Oh no. Not you, too," Alfred scowled. "Not when I was just beginning to feel like there was a reason for living."

The side of her mouth curved up, attempting a grin. "Okay, well just a little bit then."

* * *

As Stephanie doled herself a third serving, Alfred sat down across from her with a reassuring smile and a cup of tea.

"Have some faith, Miss Brown. Everything will turn out."

She cocked an eyebrow at the old butler. "What makes you so sure?"

"You'll know, once you've been around as long as I have." He winked at her over the top of his tea.

Stephanie chewed on her crepe in pensive silence. After the plate was scraped clean, she gathered enough courage to ask the question that had been burning on her mind.

"Um, Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"Bruce said something about _her._ About losing someone other than Blake. I've seen the statue, you know, in Robinson Park. Was he talking about Batgirl?"

"Yes." Alfred drew in a long and deep breath. "I suppose it's time you knew about Shadow."

"Shadow?"

"Her real name was Talia, but that was from a previous life-a life she tried to leave behind when Bruce took her in. She was even younger than you when he first brought her to Gotham."

Stephanie thought back to the picture she had seen on the mantle of a dark-haired little girl and the haunting hint of sorrow in her eyes.

"Things were never the same around here, after she died," Alfred continued. "You see, in many ways, she was the one who kept us each from being alone."

Stephanie nodded solemnly. "Could you...maybe...well, could you tell me more about Shadow? What was she like?"

Unbeknownst to the butler or the young girl, Bruce was listening just outside of the doorway. He had come downstairs, having changed his mind about breakfast, when he overheard Stephanie's question. It was best not to intrude on their conversation, he decided. She deserved to know why her relationships within Wayne Manor had been tarnished.

He leaned against a wall as he listened to Alfred recount Shadow's tale. The morning sun came glaring through the windows, morphing the darkness into familiar shapes around him. The room felt suddenly poignant with the absence of his first protege. Bruce ached to remember her face grinning up at him as they stood in the Bat Cave together on the eve of Batman's creation. His memories turned to their final moments together.

" _Gotham still needs you. Blake still needs you, more than ever. Don't let today turn to poison...for either of you...promise…."_

Poison! Bruce's eyes flew open. Connections sparked in his mind. The urn stolen from the museum, Legrand's claim to have made an untraceable toxin, and now this woman-this Poison Ivy. He recalled the smell of her perfume and the effect it had on him. If she had used it to get close enough to Nightwing, she could've followed up with something stronger. It was more than grief that had poisoned Blake.

He hurried upstairs to get ready for a visit to Wayne Enterprises, a plan swirling to life in his head. This would require Fox's expertise.


	24. Captive

**A/N: Sorry for the delay! Real life has an annoying habit of getting in the way haha. But I promise to keep delivering, don't worry. So what do you think so far? Thanks so much Ninjachick for your faithful comments! You are the best!**

* * *

"Blake…" A comforting hand touched the young man's cheek. But as his senses started to return, pain flooded his body. "Rise, Blake. Please-you must rise again." The voice was hauntingly familiar.

He groaned and tried to move. His muscles protested stiffly. He felt as if he had been run over by a truck. Wait- _did_ he get run over by a truck? Blake strained his memory. Nothing.

"Hello? Who's there?" His voice sounded hoarse like he hadn't spoken in a long time. Slowly, the room around him came into focus. It was dark and derelict. Ugly cracks ran jaggedly up the walls, leaving little mounds of rubble on the floor. He was lying on an old, sunken mattress without any blankets or pillows. Blake could see no windows, but made out two doors. One door was closed, and the other opened to a small bathroom caked in dirt.

Blake gathered his feet beneath him and tried to stand. The ground heaved like an ocean, similar to what his stomach was doing. He didn't have the strength to catch himself, so his forehead struck the floor painfully. As he reached up to check for blood, everything felt tender to the touch. His face was swollen and bruised like he had received the beating of his life. What was going on?

Blake placed one hand on the wall and used it to push himself back up. He waited for the second wave to pass, then took a few steps towards the closed door. He made it about halfway there before the hinges swung open.

A woman strutted in. She was wearing a green dress that shimmered like dew on clover. Blazing red hair swirled around the elegant curve of her bare shoulders. Blake's memory jogged.

"Pamela," he growled.

Her eyes widened. "The serum has worn off already? You must be stronger than I gave you credit for."

A man walked in behind her. Blake recognized his long gait and his copper colored hair. "Legrand?" More memories came rushing back. The museum. The docks. Though Legrand was looking straight at him, it was as if he couldn't see the young man. His eyes had become two dead holes, no life or light left in them.

"Your serum...he's under it, too, isn't he?"

"Clever little bird. It's a shame I can only use your brawn and not your brains."

"I told you-I'll never work for you."

"But you already have, sweetheart," she smirked. "How do you think you got all those marvelous bruises?"

Blake searched his memory again, but could only find scraps. Batman's burning look of betrayal. Spoiler shrinking away from him in fear. "Spoiler-no! What have you done to her? What have...what have _I_ done to her?" A horrible feeling of dread welled up inside of him. His knees trembled, threatening to buckle.

Pamela laughed at his distress with sincere cruelty. "That little brat? She made it out, unfortunately. But don't worry. I'll make sure you finish the job. Perhaps she'll show up tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, dear. There is something I need you to do. And I've ensured a little backup in case Batman gets in the way again."

"It doesn't matter," Blake declared. "He will stop me. He will stop all of you."

She moved towards him, graceful as a gazelle. "Are you always this faithful? Such a pity. Such a _waste_." She sighed wistfully. Blake backed away, stumbling as he tried to keep upright.

"You really are different, aren't you? It's why I'm letting you keep this." She placed her hands on the sides of his mask, which he realized was still in place.

"My...my mask?"

"Yes, love."

"Why?"

"Because I really do care about you. You aren't like them-you're _better_ than them. Why keep working for the Bat, hmm? Aren't you worried he's holding you back?"

Blake's senses began to swim. There was that smell again, that captivating scent that weakened his resolve. He tried to edge away from her, but she grabbed hold of his face.

"Listen to me," she insisted, drawing her mouth dangerously close to his. "You deserve a break. We could do anything you ever dreamed of, you and I." Her thumbs brushed over his lips, parting them.

"But...Batman…"

"Shhh. You don't need him bossing you around anymore. You need me, darling. Only me." Blake trembled. His strength was all but depleted, making it difficult to fight her seductive appeal. Echoes from a deep and wounded place resounded with resentment, even hatred, towards Bruce. His ego clamored for justification. "Denounce him. Be your own man. Aren't you tired of being in his shadow?"

"Shadow..." Blake's breath hitched at the evocation. He could picture Bruce's tear-ridden eyes as the mushroom cloud dissipated over the harbor, leaving nothing behind but a winter sky. _"I've got you, Blake. I'm still here. I won't leave you. We'll make it through this somehow-together. Just as Shadow wanted."_

He grabbed one of Pamela's arms and spun her around suddenly, pinning her wrist against her back. She cried out, startled.

"Batman made me who I am. I owe him everything," he rasped into her ear. "You can try to hurt me. You can try to hurt Gotham. But he will always stand in your way. Don't you know this is our city? You will never win here!"

Pamela wrenched herself free and whirled to face him. "Maybe you're not so different after all." Her eyes brimmed with contempt. "You have forced my hand then. Marc, restrain him."

Blake raised his fists, though he knew he couldn't win. Still, he managed to get a few good swings in before Legrand knocked him to the ground.

Pamela withdrew a syringe and a vial of viscous, amber liquid. "I'll give you an extra dose this time. Don't want it wearing off before the job is done."

"No-no!" Blake thrashed in Legrand's grip. The needle plunged into his neck, cold as a dagger. "He'll...stop you…" Blake felt the serum wrapping around his mind like a dodder weed, strangling his free will. His last thought was of the crestfallen look on Stephanie's face when he left her alone in front of the glowing television screen. "Please, Batman...stop me…"


	25. Impressions

If you were to go to the heart of Gotham, you would see Wayne Enterprises looming above all else like a watchtower. In late afternoon, its shadow passes over an antiquated building crammed between two sleek, newer ones. The brick facade seems out of place among all the glass and steel. But this place flaunts its differences proudly, bearing its name like a flagship: Parkhurst Galleries. Step inside the door, and the racket of downtown fades away in the company of priceless pieces and historic paintings.

One evening in particular, Old Man Parkhurst strolled down the red strip of carpet, hands clasped behind his back. He smiled jovially at a couple enjoying _Bal du Moulin de la Galette._ Renoir's rendition of a nineteenth century dance had always made an impression on Parkhurst, too. Perhaps it was the bright, festive colors. Perhaps it was the fact that it had cost him $75 million.

A security guard near the front checked his watch. Five minutes until closing time, and the gallery was still filled with patrons. But the old man never hurried people. The guard shrugged. He was in for some overtime, no doubt.

Screams arose from a nearby wing accompanied by the shattering of glass. An alarm tripped. Crowds of guests stampeded towards the exit, fleeing from a host of armed men. The guard rushed at them, but was swiftly and ruthlessly gunned down. Three more guards met the same grisly fate.

Parkhurst charged into the fray with chivalrous, misguided bravery. "Get out of my gallery!" he demanded, shaking his finger as if he were chiding school children. But they merely laughed in his face.

"Tie him up, Hanks!" one of them ordered. A particularly husky looking thug advanced towards the owner with a wicked smirk and a handful of rope.

"Come on, old man. Take it easy, let us have our fun, and you'll get out of this alive."

Parkhurst stood his ground defiantly. "How dare you come into _my_ business and make demands! Get out of here this instant!"

There was another shattering of glass just then. Nightwing tumbled through a window, landing gracefully on his feet amidst the broken shards.

Parkhurst's chest swelled with relief. "Last chance, boys!" he warned them. But to his perplexion, the thugs kept laughing.

"Yes, last chance," Hanks said. " _Your_ last chance. Though I'd love to see Nightwing make ground beef out of you!" He shoved the old man to the ground and began winding the rope around his chest and arms.

"Nightwing?"Parkhurst implored. "Please, not you, too." The old man's plea was quiet and dignified. But the hero merely gazed upon his predicament with frigid eyes. So heartbroken was Parkhurst that he never even saw Hanks bring down the butt of a flashlight onto his head. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

When he awoke again, Commissioner Gordon was at his side. Police swarmed the gallery, taking notes and collecting evidence. "Take it easy. You've got quite the nasty bump," Gordon said, gently helping him to sit up. His binds had already been cut and lay on the floor around him in frayed coils.

"What-what happened?" Parkhurst rubbed the back of his head. There was indeed a nasty bump.

"We were hoping you could tell us. They've taken out the security cameras. And a truckload of paintings."

"The Renoir-!"

"Gone, I'm afraid. Did you get a look at their leader? Would you recognize him if I showed you some mugs?"

"No need for mugs," Parkhurst said with a sad shake of his head. "Anyone in Gotham would recognize him."

"Who?" Gordon knit his brows, confused.

"Nightwing. It was Nightwing."

The commissioner nearly fell on his backside in shock. "Are you...are you _sure_?"

"I've been in this town longer than he's been alive. I was here when that district attorney turned, too. God help us all if Batman ever goes that way." The old man stared glumly ahead, despondent and dejected.

Gordon swallowed hard, but clung fast to his faith. "It's okay, Mr. Parkhurst. There are more heroes in Gotham than you think. Come on, let's get you out of here."


	26. Sides

"Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?" Gordon demanded before Spoiler could even finish climbing over the ledge. She still had to get a good grasp of the whole grappling hook thing.

Gordon looked furious. Batman's back was to her, but his posture remained stoic.

"Old Man Parkhurst told me Nightwing robbed his gallery today. What happened to him? I tried to warn you, Batman. He wasn't ready for a new teamma-"

"Poison Ivy." Batman tried to cut him short, but Stephanie knew where the commissioner was going. Her heart sank all the way down to her boots.

"Poison Ivy? What does that even mean?"

"She's the one behind this. She's working with Cobblepot, though I don't know what's in it for her."

"Why would Nightwing join them? Why would he go to their side?"

"She has a way of making men listen to her. Some kind of pheromone concoction, I believe."

Gordon scoffed. "And you think this worked on Nightwing? He's a young man, but he's not a fool."

"No. She used something stronger on him. I found traces of a pernicious poison in his blood."

"In his blood? How on earth did you get a sample?"

"There was plenty left on my suit when he...when he went after us." His voice broke with a deep anguish that wounded the commissioner, too. Stephanie clenched her fists silently as she witnessed Poison Ivy's side effects.

"I'm sorry," Gordon muttered. His hand went to the back of his neck. "So what do we do? How do we get him back?"

"I have someone working on an antidote," Batman said. "But I don't know how long it will take." He felt a small tug on his cape then, and looked down into the dark space beneath Spoiler's hood.

"What about Legrand?" she asked.

"Yes...he mentioned a poison, too. I suspect he knows Ivy well," Batman mused aloud. "Any sign of him?"

"No," the commissioner answered. "Legrand seems to have dropped off the face of the planet."

Stephanie hated what she had to say next, but she said it anyways. "What about Arthur Brown, the man who was with him at the docks? Maybe he knows how to get in touch with him?" Batman sent her a proud, private smile.

"No good. We questioned him in jail, but he said that Legrand always came to him. And the phone number he gave Brown was connected to a burner that's long since been trashed." He turned his gaze to the sea of lights below police headquarters. "We still don't have anything solid enough to bring Cobblepot in, either. He's paid up with the right people."

"For now. Money only gets you so far," Batman replied.

"Still. I wish it'd get me a little farther." Gordon smiled wryly, returning more to his old self. He turned back around, but Batman was gone. Spoiler stood on the ledge, mid-poise. She chuckled sheepishly.

"Sorry. Um. I have to-I have to follow him. See ya." She leapt away without further ado.


	27. Blake's Promise

Wind whipped through Stephanie's honey-colored hair as she followed Bruce down the front steps of Wayne Manor. The pair made their way across large, manicured lawns and into a copse of birches. Here, the dappled tree trunks sheltered Stephanie from spring's nip. A carpet of moss softened every footstep. The fresh air seemed to seep down into her very soul. There was something inexplicably soothing about the morning, despite the turn of events at Parkhurst Galleries a few nights ago.

Bruce had yet to tell her where they were going. But his gait hastened with hope once the birch trees thinned out and a clearing of clover came into view. Nestled in the middle of the clearing was a greenhouse, lovely and serene as a chapel. The young girl spied a purple ocean of flowers within its glass walls. They appeared to be waiting for her, beckoning even.

Bruce paused, a funny little smile on his face. Stephanie came to a stop at his side. "What is this?" she finally asked, looking up at her mentor.

"Foxgloves," Bruce replied. "Those are foxgloves. Blake built this place."

"So he plants flowers instead of watching TV? Man, he's more of a square than I thought!"

Bruce chuckled softly. "It wasn't his idea. It was Shadow's."

The young girl's cheeks reddened. "Oh. I-I didn't know."

"It's alright. I didn't expect you to. Stephanie-" He knelt down and looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about her before. I guess I didn't want to place that burden on your shoulders. But, well, you have to carry it anyways, just by being here."

"It's okay," she assured him. "Alfred told me, the other morning. I know it's probably still hard for you to talk about it."

"Sometimes though, not talking about it is hard, too."

She tilted her head. "You're referring to Blake, aren't you?"

Bruce smiled at the young girl's keenness. "Yes," he said, standing back up and continuing towards the greenhouse. "You see, after Shadow died, Blake sort of shut down. He wouldn't take any comfort, any company. Instead, he poured everything he had into this garden. It was the last promise he made to her, and it was the only thing that kept him going for awhile. Sometimes...sometimes it seemed like he was expecting to find her out here one day."

Stephanie felt a stab of pity for the young man. She entered the doorway behind Bruce and gazed upon the flowers tenderly, as if she were gazing upon Blake's open, broken heart.

Bruce gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "Once we get him back, and once you get to know the real Blake, I think you'll like him a lot. You two are more similar than you realize."

"Yeah, right!" she retorted, feigning offense. " _I_ know how to have fun."

"No really! You guy are basically birds of a feather. Or should I say- _bats_ of a feather." Stephanie couldn't help but giggle. At her feet, a patch of flowers sprang up enthusiastically. She imagined they agreed and were laughing, too. But it was probably just a gust of wind that had slipped in through the door.

Bruce strode over to a nearby shelf of supplies and retrieved a wicker basket. "Anyways, we need to take some of these to the lab at Wayne Enterprises. Help me pick them?"

"Pick them? Why?" Stephanie blinked at him, confused.

"Like I said, these are foxgloves. _Digitalis lanata_. They are actually poisonous at first blush. But under the right conditions, they can also treat the human heart. Fox thinks they're the key to creating an antidote for Ivy's serum." He shook his head and laughed suddenly. "Funny, isn't it? These were Shadow's favorite flowers. I guess it was always part of her destiny, to save him."

Stephanie felt the urge to thank each foxglove that she picked. They worked in purposeful silence, filling the basket with their purple bounty. "You know," she said after a while. "I think I get it."

"What's that?" Bruce asked.

"Blake. See, my dad changed, too, after my mom died."

Bruce placed another flower in the basket and wiped his hands on his pants. "Was that seven years ago?"

She froze, surprised. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"I'm a detective, remember? I looked up your father's records after he was arrested at the docks. You were right, you know. He's not like those other bad guys. Clean past, nothing so much as a speeding ticket. And he was a state champion, wasn't he?"

Stephanie smiled proudly. "Best boxer on the whole east coast, actually!" she boasted. "Well, unofficially."

Bruce nodded. "Then all of a sudden, things started popping up. Right around seven years ago. The bankruptcies, the foreclosure notices, the jail stints…"

Stephanie gritted her teeth together. "Yeah. We didn't just lose my mom. We lost everything. My mom-she was was one of those people that made you feel like the best version of yourself. She was a therapist, actually. Did you know that?"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! She helped a lot of people. And she _loved_ you. Always wanted to meet you. Though, in her words, you were 'probably a case and a half.'"

Bruce laughed wryly. "Alfred would agree with that assessment."

Stephanie's laughter joined his. Then her smile slowly sobered. "Well, one of her clients, he thought we were rich or something. He broke into our house with some of his buddies. My dad was at a boxing tournament, and we were in the kitchen making him a victory cake. We heard the window break and then...things...they took a wrong turn." She fell silent in the wake of terrible memories.

Her story touched a part of Bruce's soul, the part that had died with his parents in that cold alleyway. "The world has an ugly face sometimes. We both learned that early, didn't we?"

Stephanie's brows pulled together pensively. "Yeah, we did," she said. "That's why you created Batman's face, isn't it?"

Again, the girl's keenness made him smile. "I believe so, Steph. You know...I think your mom would be very proud of you."

Grateful tears shone in her eyes. She wiped them away with a touch of embarrassment. "Hey come on, enough chatting. Let's get these flowers to Wayne Enterprises."

* * *

 **A/N: The foxgloves were first brought up in Chapter 60 (Out of Commission) of my first story, for those of you who haven't read The Dark Knight's Shadow. And then Blake and Shadow discuss foxgloves some more in the first part of Chapter 77 (By the Dawn's Early Light). Not necessary to read, just if you were curious :-).**


	28. No Honor

Poison Ivy marched into a room that smelled of whiskey and cigars. Its walls were a stark contrast to the neon dance floor at the other end of the hall. The Iceberg Lounge was enjoying another usual, lively night. But things were about to get a lot less usual and a lot more lively.

Cobblepot hastened to his feet. "You!" He stabbed one gnarled, claw-like finger in Ivy's direction. "You stole from me!"

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"I'd call you a lot of other things if I weren't so old-fashioned," the crimelord sneered.

"Dear, dear Cobblepot. There's no need for such animosity between us."

"No? Well my missing paintings denote otherwise."

"They aren't missing. They're in very good hands. Very _wealthy_ hands." She pushed her hair back nonchalantly.

"You sold them?!"

"Of course I sold them. They were too bland for my place."

An angry gurgling noise arose from Cobblepot's throat. Veins sprang up across his forehead. "Shoot her," he growled to his men. "Shoot her! Nobody double-crosses me!"

They lifted their guns. But the crimelord's face shifted from fury to bewilderment when they pointed their barrels straight at him.

"What are you doing? I said shoot _her_!" he barked.

"Men are not loyal creatures, Cobblepot. And as you said yourself, there is no honor among thieves." Ivy's face glowed triumphantly.

"I paid you! I paid you well!" Cobblepot backed away from the table, watching the multitude of guns follow him.

"Money only gets you so far. See, I have money, too, now. And I was willing to pay these men much better wages."

Cobblepot gnashed his teeth. "Do you realize what you've done? First you shanghai one of Gotham's heroes, simultaneously casting yourself as Batman's prime target. Then you come in here and threaten me with my own men? Are you sure you want to proceed?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure you _can_ proceed?"

Ivy laughed softly to herself as she settled into his chair. "You know what it is? Men cannot stand to see something beautiful _and_ untamed. They want to cut it down or put it in a pot. Well, no man will ever rule over me again. Gotham will be my city. _Mine._ "

"So what next? I suppose you'll kill me now."

"Oh, sweetheart! No, no, no," she gushed. "I'm a lover, not a killer. But give me any reason to, and I'll have Nightwing cut out that frozen lump of a heart in your chest."

"Then what do you want from me?"

She swivelled around to face the homely crimelord trembling with rage in his tuxedo. "Oh, I've already taken what I want. See, my men have been emptying your storeroom during this little chat of ours."

"My-!"

"Yes. Your place was merely first on my list for tonight." Ivy stood up and patted him on the cheek with a condescending smile. "I must be off. So much to do! Stay out of my way now, you hear?"

Cobblepot snarled like a rabid dog as she returned to the doorway. "Come along," she chirped to the circle of henchmen. Then she rubbed her hands together excitedly. "The fun is about to begin!"


	29. Friendly Fire

A tinge of color seeped up from the horizon, hinting at dawn. Rain clouds broke apart, drifting away from each other like icebergs in a vast and blue ocean. Morning would bring the end of an incessant rash of burglaries that plagued Gotham over the course of the night. Batman and Spoiler had tried to keep up, but found themselves perpetually one step behind. Finally, they came across a crime scene that still looked fresh: Harry Hammert's Jewellers.

Batman walked past a broken jewelry case, careful not to crunch any glass beneath his boots. Alarms rang shrilly through the air. Up ahead, a man in black busily stuffed his bag with diamonds. "Hey Van, check out these beauties-" A gloved hand covered his mouth before he could realize that it was not Van standing behind him. He struggled for mere seconds before his body went limp in Batman's effective sleeper hold.

Up ahead, hordes of criminals ransacked a wall of displays. Batman crept towards them cautiously, readying a batarang in his palm. But out of nowhere, a pair of boots flew into his chest, knocking him flat on his back. A searing hot pain ripped through his body at seemingly the same time. Blue webs of electricity from Nightwing's escrima stick wrapped around him, thrumming with relentless voltage. He writhed on the floor in agony.

"Yeah! Get him!" the cronies shouted, swooping down around the dark knight and revelling in his defeat. Their celebration was interrupted, however, when a rope shot around Nightwing's leg and dragged him away with a violent jerk. Nightwing sailed across the floor, finally coming to a stop when he slammed against a counter with a groan.

"I'm so sorry, buddy." Spoiler appeared from the nearby shadows. "But no electrocuting our boss, okay?" Nightwing rolled to his feet and turned towards her in silence. He looked frighteningly calm.

"Oh crap-" Spoiler bolted away fast as she could. She raced through the dark, wide halls of the jewelry store, flinging chairs and balusters into his path of pursuit. She could hear Batman duking it out with the rest of the thugs behind them. He wouldn't be able to protect her this time.

With a flying leap, Nightwing tackled her to the ground. Spoiler cried out viciously, throwing her elbows back and trying her best to fend him off. But she knew it was a losing battle.

When his fist smashed into her jaw, she found herself bordering on the edge of unconsciousness. Through her sluggish senses, she could feel his knees digging into her chest and his hands wrapping around her throat. Panic surged through her body.

"Nightwing...listen...to me!" she gasped. "Poison...you've been poisoned!" She struggled frantically for breath. It felt like decades passed, and still she could not wrench herself free. _Wait a minute! He could've crushed my windpipe by now if he wanted to. Something must be holding him back. I have to try to reach him!_

"It was...the jam...wasn't it? Rhubarb...jam."

A brief flare of emotion flitted across his face. Blake's fingers loosened ever so slightly. Stephanie gulped in a few breaths, easing the burn of her lungs. "I didn't know it was Shadow's favorite," she continued hastily. "But I know now. I know what she meant to you."

Something flickered in his eyes-something small and undeniable. It filled her with hope. "Yes! That's it! Whatever this poison is, you have to rise above it. _You have to rise Blake_."

The flicker turned into a blaze. Her words had fired shots at the war raging within. He shook his head forcefully. His mouth worked like he was trying to speak, yet only a strange, strangled snarl escaped his lips.

Stephanie reached up and placed her hands on his. "It's going to be alright," she promised the tormented young man. "We're going to help you, okay? We're making an anti-"

Blake was abruptly swept off of her by a streak of navy blue. He clattered to the ground in Commissioner Gordon's clutch. "Run!" Gordon ordered. "Go! I'll hold him off!"

"No!" Stephanie shouted. But it was too late. The light fled from Blake's eyes under the new assault. He pried himself out of Gordon's hold and then hoisted the commissioner into the air above his head.

"Nightwing, stop!" Stephanie watched in horror as he slammed Gordon onto a display case, shattering it. He sank beneath the jagged spears of glass, dazed. The tip of an escrima stick pushed straight against his heart.

"Come back to us. Please come back," Stephanie pleaded, wincing in pain while she climbed to her feet.

Gordon searched the young man's empty gaze, feeling a bolt of fear at the sight of such unwonted darkness. "You have to get out of here, Spoiler," he warned. "Or he'll kill you."

"I'm not leaving him with _you_ ," she shot back. "Nightwing, that's the commissioner you've got." She took a few cautious steps towards them. "Your oldest and closest ally, remember? You know him. You wouldn't hurt him."

"I said get back!" Gordon's voice strained desperately, but she continued to draw closer and closer. One of her hands stretched towards his escrima stick. Blake's jaw clenched with indecision. His temple glistened with sweat.

Thunderous footsteps flooded the air suddenly. Stephanie whipped around to see an army of officers rushing to the scene. "Stop!" she screamed. "Get back!"

A small, fiery explosion halted their encroach and swept the young girl off her feet. Smoky flames billowed up to the ceiling, obscuring everyone from view. A confused commotion broke out. "Gordon?!" Stephanie cried.

"I'm here," came the answer. Gordon heaved himself out of the broken case.

"Are you alright?" Stephanie rushed to his side. She laid one of his arms across her shoulders and tried her best to steady the man. Ash rained down around them.

"I'll be fine," he panted. Blood seeped through some of the jagged cuts in his uniform, which glinted with slivers of glass. As the smoke began to clear, Stephanie could see a shallow, smoldering crater in the floor between them and the officers. Then she spied Batman's hulking silhouette in a nearby door frame, sporting fresh battle wounds.

"Nightwing is gone. He escaped," the dark knight lamented. There was a heavy note of despondency in his voice.

"Well, nice distraction at least," Stephanie piped up. "Saved some lives, no doubt."

"But that wasn't me."

Gordon sputtered as he wiped his smoke-filled eyes. "What? You mean it was….why would Nightwing do that?"

"Because he wanted to get out of here without hurting anybody else." Stephanie grinned beneath her mask. "He was fighting it, Batman. He's stronger than Poison Ivy knows."

The commissioner paused and regarded the young hero anew. Her legs shook beneath the brunt of his weight, but she continued to hold him up with a valiant effort. An admiring smile made its way across his face. "He's not the only one Ivy underestimated, I think."


	30. War

Bruce had tried to follow Blake's trail from the jewelry store, but to no avail. He'd learned from Batman how to leave nothing behind, and he had learned well. Worn out, wounded, and clinging to what little hope was left, Bruce and Stephanie resigned to the Bat Cave together.

Someone was waiting there for them. An older gentlemen with dark skin and an air of quiet confidence helped Stephanie from the tumbler.

"Thanks Fox," she said, pulling off her hood and mask.

"Of course. Nice bruise, by the way," he remarked, noting the swollen spot on her jaw. "At least it matches your purple cape!"

"Pretty fashionable, huh?" Stephanie grinned, heartened by his company. She was fond of the old man. He was sincere in word and deed, with a wit as sharp as his intellect. And he never treated her like a child.

Bruce removed his cowl and shoved a hand through his sweat-slicked hair. He wore deep lines of exhaustion around his eyes. "I certainly hope you were more successful than we were."

"Nice to see you, too. And yes, I was." Fox pulled out a vial from his breastpocket.

"Is that the antidote?" Stephanie asked excitedly.

"Indeed." He gave Bruce a stern look. "Now quit dragging your feet and bring that young man home, would you?"

Bruce flashed him a wry smile. "Sure, let me just put my gear away and then postpone that tropical vacation I had planned."

Fox chuckled good-naturedly. Then he proffered the young girl an arm. "You look like you could use some breakfast-I know I could. Shall we go see what Alfred's cooking up?"

* * *

Across town, Oswald Cobblepot was having a rough morning as well. The club sat dark and quiet. A trickle of loyalists remained, waiting in a circle around him for some sort of a plan. But he had trouble thinking of one through his burning desire for revenge.

"Recruits," he finally said. Nearby, Hoffman shifted nervously.

"Recruits, sir?"

"We need more recruits. Anybody you can think of."

"Yes, sir." Hoffman knew better than to press the temperamental crimelord further.

Morrow, however, was not as prudent. "No offense boss, but it's kind of hard to compete with somebody who's got Nightwing in their arsenal."

Cobblepot swivelled slowly, a cold, crazed smile plastered on his face. "Yes. Nightwing. He does put me in a quandary." He lifted his umbrella and stroked it thoughtfully.

Without warning, he squeezed a hidden trigger and a flurry of bullets exploded from its tip. Morrow sank to the floor in a bloody mess. The other men in the room took a horrified step backwards, mouths agape. Cobblepot sighed as if he had just finished a large meal. He set his umbrella back down and leaned on the hilt. "As I was saying, we need more recruits."

"Of course, s-sir," Hoffman stuttered. He drew himself up, trying to appear more collected than he felt. "Don't you worry, sir. We'll get that no-good redhead."

"She besmeared my name as a competent criminal. We can't let her keep shop in this town. But Morrow had a point, the dear fellow. We'll have to deal with Nightwing first." Cobblepot paced the floor, his feet scraping with every hobbled step. "Batman is another problem. He will try to save his pet bird, no doubt. That could get tedious. Perhaps if we...yes...yes...that's it!"

His eyes lit up with sadistic glee as he turned to face the group of quaking men. "We will take care of Poison Ivy _and_ those meddlesome heroes once and for all. Go! Tell every low-life you meet that war is coming to Gotham."


	31. Skating By

Stephanie steeled herself as she approached the counter. A glass partition separated her from the man on the other side. Guilt pricked at her chest to see the big black numbers ironed to his orange jumpsuit.

With everything going on, she had found herself longing for her father's familiar presence. But when she picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, she realized that nothing about this felt familiar.

"Hey," he said. His voice came kinder than she had anticipated.

"Hey yourself."

A moment of silence lapsed.

"So, have you learned to cook yet or what?" Arthur shot her a facetious grin.

"Nah. I've got a butler now," she joked. Well, it wasn't exactly a joke. But to her father it was. They shared a brief laugh and in that moment, Stephanie found the familiarity she had been yearning for.

"Anyways, how you holding up, Steph? I mean, really?" His face grew long and serious.

"I'm fine, don't worry." The young girl hoped that she sounded convincing. "How about you?"

Her father shrugged. "Still haven't had my day in court yet. Someone offered to pay bail, you know. Called himself an old friend."

Stephanie's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Legrand?" she whispered.

"No, I haven't heard from that scoundrel. This was some other guy. Anyways, I turned him down. You were right, you know. I'm safer in here than I am out there."

There was something ominous about his statement. But his words also trudged up memories of the night she put him in this wretched place. Guilt racked her heart all over again. "Dad, I'm-I'm sorry."

"Now stop that," Arthur scolded gently. "I'm not mad at you, okay? Besides, you're doing great without me. Just promise you'll be careful?"

Her stomach fluttered. "What-what do you mean?"

He cocked his head back with an unsettlingly smug smile. "Hey, remember how we used to go skating? At that old rink next to the abandoned shoe factory?"

"Skating? What-"

"Yeah. You and mom loved it more than I did. We used to go every Wednesday at 10 o'clock. Remember?"

Stephanie remembered all right. But she could have sworn that they only ever went on the weekends. And that it was down the block from the abandoned shoe factory, not next door.

Her father stared at her shrewdly. "Wednesday, Stephanie. 10 o'clock."

Comprehension hit her like a ton of bricks. Her lips parted, but she had trouble articulating anything. Behind Arthur, one of the guards tapped his watch.

"Be safe out there, okay? If it were me, I'd let the trash take out the trash. But I'm no hero." He placed a hand on the glass. His smile returned, and this time, it was warm and sincere. "I love you. Please don't forget that."

"No more time, Brown. Hang it up." The guard snatched the receiver away and replaced it on the cradle.

"Wait-please!" Stephanie put her hand on the glass opposite his until the guard dragged him away. Arthur held his daughter's gaze as long as he could and then disappeared back into the belly of the prison.

Stephanie's chest heaved. She sank into the chair, her mind abuzz with everything that had changed-and everything that hadn't changed.

"I love you too, dad," she whispered.


	32. Doubts

Scathingly bright sunlight flooded Bruce's vision.

"Time for you to rise, Master Wayne," Alfred chirped. He tied back a pair of silken curtains, ignoring the groans of protest coming from the bed. "There's tea on the nightstand."

Bruce pulled himself up and rubbed his face. Then one fumbling hand reached for the nightstand and brought the tea to his lips.

"No luck again," he grumbled after several steaming sips. He had spent the last few nights tearing up every backstreet of Gotham, searching for any sign of his captive partner. And each time he returned without Nightwing, it drove failure's sharp knife deeper into his heart.

Alfred clicked his teeth. "Nothing at all?"

"Well, I did catch wind of some interesting rumors. About Cobblepot, about war. Sounds like Poison Ivy has upset the natural order of things, and now he's out for her blood. That's likely what Arthur Brown was hinting at."

"Perhaps she tired of working for a humorless, old badger. I can sympathize."

Bruce threw him a scowl.

"See what I mean?" Alfred chuckled as he began to pick up piles of dirty clothes off the floor. His master sighed plaintively from the bed, unamused.

"Cobblepot is no one to trifle with. There will be consequences. And Blake...he's too close to all of this. He'll get caught in the crossfire. I have to find him. I have to bring him back." His voice strained direly.

"You and Miss Brown better be ready for Wednesday then."

Bruce glanced about, reminded of the young girl. He had grown accustomed to (and even fond of) the way she usually tagged along with the butler for his wakeup call. "Where is Stephanie, anyways?"

"Training. Hasn't really cared for company lately."

"She's been that way ever since the visit with her father," Bruce noted glumly. "Alfred...maybe...maybe I shouldn't be encouraging this."

Alfred threw the clothes he had gathered into a hamper with a little more force than necessary. "What on earth are you going on about? You're not thinking of making another mistake like you did with Shadow?"

"But look at what it's doing to her, she's-"

"She's what?" the old man interjected. "Shown remarkable resilience in the face of hardship? Held on to every word you've said? Turned into something you can be proud of?"

"She's _got a father._ " Bruce finished.

"Yes. And she misses him, that's all."

"He's not a bad guy, you know. I owe it to him to keep her safe, but I can't-I can't make that promise. I couldn't even keep Shadow safe. And now Blake..." His voice broke, hitting against a lump in his throat. "Don't you think Arthur has been through enough? He barely held it together after losing his wife. Who am I to gamble with his daughter's life as well?"

Alfred strode over purposefully. He took the empty cup from Bruce's hand, set it back on the bedside table, and then stared at his master hard. "Nobody truly knows how to deal with grief. Some even go so crazy, they start dressing like a bat every night."

For the first time, Bruce cracked a smile. Alfred slowly smiled back. There was a fatherly tenderness in his gaze now. "Still," he continued. "There are individuals out there who possess extraordinary strength. People who have lost that which they swore they could not live without, and were proven wrong. People like you. Like Blake. And now Stephanie, too. Don't you dare hold her back. The world needs that kind of strength."

He turned and began carrying the dishes out of the room, leaving Bruce behind to brood on his words.

"Hey Alfred-"

"Yes, Master Wayne?" The old man paused in the threshold. His demeanor instantly returned to that of a butler. But to Bruce he looked like something much more.

The younger man rubbed the back of his neck as he struggled for the right words. Finally, he settled on just two:

"Thank-you."

* * *

 **A/N: Alfred's little speech is from the comics, so I can't take credit for it. I just thought it was fitting in this chapter of my story! Also, things have really quieted down on this site, both on my page and on other people's stuff I've been reading. I hope people aren't losing interest in fanfic. Just my luck of course, now that I've found this site! lol**

 **If you are still reading, hang tight because "Bats of a Feather" is almost over! I may go through my original story and revamp it when I'm done with this one. I also have some ideas for X-Files and Star Trek fanfic. Any requests on what you'd like to read next?**

 **At any rate, I've had a lot of fun writing in the Batman universe, and I hope you've had just as much fun reading. I'm pretty excited for the rest of this story to pan out. Kind of nervous to see if you guys are happy with it or not! The next chapter is going to be a doozy!**


	33. The Worst Animal

**A/N: HPGreen934- I would love to do another sequel with these characters! Didn't have any plans to, but I can sit on that idea for awhile. So glad you are enjoying it! Means a lot to me! I'm willing to take suggestions or ideas, too, if anybody would like to see a particular scenario or new character or anything like that :-)**

* * *

A happy couple strolled down the block, hand in hand. Their pace quickened uncomfortably as they passed the concrete hulk of a building. A row of mostly shattered windows gaped down at them, dark and void of life. The abandoned factory appeared to be crouching, almost as if it were embarrassed of its naked hideousness but had nowhere to hide. Down the street the couple disappeared, leaving the wretched building forsaken once more.

Tonight, however, it would have no shortage of company.

Just as Gotham's clock tower struck ten, footsteps resounded across the factory floor. An older gentleman with greased back hair and an olive suit puffed patiently on his cigar as he cast his gaze about the scowling emptiness.

"Well? Where is she?" A handful of younger men emerged behind him, equally well-dressed and oily.

"Ladies like to make an entrance," the older man replied. "Isn't that right, Miss Ivy?"

A woman stepped out from behind a large machine, flanked by her own gaggle of henchmen. Her bright green dress scintillated like jewels, reflecting every mote of light that could be found in that dismal place. Flaming red hair swirled about her shoulders. The sight of her made the young men standing opposite take sudden, hungry notice.

"Salvatore Maroni," she hailed. Her voice was smooth as glass. "It's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. You've got quite the name around town."

"You aren't doing too badly yourself," the mob boss insisted. A figure shifted behind Poison Ivy, shadowing her every move in stolid silence. Maroni's nose wrinkled. "So it's true, then? Nightwing's got a new gig?"

She nodded smugly.

"Don't suppose he's for sale, too? I brought a little extra cash with me." A cloud of smoke seeped through Maroni's teeth as he chuckled. Ivy answered him with an icy glare. "No? Didn't figure. Well then, where are my antiques?"

Ivy nodded to two of her men, who proceeded to pry open a nearby crate with crowbars. Maroni sauntered over, plunging his greedy hands into the straw as soon as the lid was lifted. He pulled out a painting of goat herders on an arid hillside and held it aloft.

"Do you know which is the worst animal?" he asked, clamping the cigar between his teeth while his eyes roved over the rustic scene.

Ivy's face twisted in confusion.

"Man. Man is the worst animal." Maroni set the painting down and turned his attention towards her. "Just a little something Fattori said, the master behind this marvelous work."

Approval flitted across Ivy's eyes. "Yes. And how right he was. Now where is my money, sweetheart?"

Maroni snapped his fingers and one of his thugs brought forth a nondescript briefcase. "Pleasure doing business with you," the mob boss said, handing it over. Then he waved his men towards the crate.

But someone moved in the way. Nightwing stood menacingly between him and his merchandise.

"Hey! What's the deal, bird brain?"

"The deal's not finished until I count my money," Ivy said, opening the briefcase.

Maroni faltered ever so slightly. "What's the matter? Don't trust me?" He flashed her a simpering smile.

"Men are the worst animal, after all." She smiled back just as cloyingly. But soon her smile faded. "What-what is this?" Ivy demanded, holding up stacks of poorly constructed counterfeits.

On platforms above the party, armed men stepped out from behind machinery heads and heating lines. Ivy began to tremble, overcome by a mixture of fury and fright. She had walked right into an ambush.

"As I said, it was a pleasure doing business with you." Maroni urged his men towards the crate once more. Nightwing tensed, but paused at the presence of a hand on his shoulder.

"Stand down, love," Ivy ordered. "A couple of ugly paintings aren't worth it."

Maroni smirked victoriously. A tense silence descended over the factory as the crate was removed and placed in the back of an idling truck. Maroni followed close behind. "Arrivederci!" he called, taking an overly dramatic bow in the threshold of the exit.

"You have your paintings, now call off your men!" Ivy shouted, glancing at the guns pointed in her direction.

"Oh, those aren't my men-they're Cobblepot's!" He winked and then disappeared into the night.

Ivy's jaw dropped. Her stomach turned to ice. But just before the factory erupted in gunfire, there was a flurry of movement. Nightwing threw Ivy and her men behind a nearby cutting press, sparing them from the slaughter.

A terrified, whimpering Ivy broke away. She bolted blindly for the exit under a hail of bullets. In her panicked haste, she stumbled over a pile of old tooling just before she could reach the door.

"Not so fast." A pair of slick dress shoes stepped in front of her. She swallowed nervously, her eyes working their way up the black and white tuxedo. "I tried to warn you- _nobody_ double crosses me!"

Cobblepot lashed out, grabbing a fistful of red hair with one hand and slapping her across the cheek with the other. She yelped in pain. Her legs thrashed against the ground as she tried to free herself from his cruel grasp.

Suddenly, someone yanked Cobblepot off of his feet and flung him across the floor. He rolled several times and then dragged himself up onto his knees.

"Have you forgotten?" Ivy sneered, recollecting her dignity. "I have insurance against brutes like you."

Nightwing glowered fiercely from her side. Cobblepot reached out a hand towards his umbrella. "Well I have a little insurance, too. Against brutes like _him_." He rested the umbrella lengthwise against his side. "All thanks to you, you know."

Ivy's eyes flew wide. _Legrand's poison_. "No!" she screamed.

A dart shot from the tip of Cobblepot's umbrella, straight towards the unwitting hero. But it did not find its mark. For at the very last moment, a black and purple streak sent him crashing to the ground.

Nightwing and Spoiler landed together in a tangled heap of limbs. Immediately, the young girl pulled herself free and hopped to her feet. "Come on!" she taunted. "Come and get me!" She sped off towards Batman and towards the antidote, hoping he would take the bait.

He did. Spoiler's cape billowed out behind her as she sprinted through the factory. She could hear Nightwing closing in fast. But Batman was still a ways off, busy with Cobblepot's men. _I can't make it that far,_ she despaired. _I can't outrun him. Think, Stephanie, think!_

Up ahead, she spied a system of pulleys and ropes. Bruce's words came blazing back to her then. _Adapt! I have to adapt!_

She flung a batarang out in front of her. Its razor sharp edge sliced through one of the ropes. As the freed half sprang towards the ceiling, she grabbed hold of it and was yanked upwards. Before the rope could finish retracting, Spoiler shot her grappling gun over a platform. _This would be a perfect time for me to finally get this right!_

It hooked on the edge of a railing, just barely. _This will have to do!_ She let go of the rope and swung towards the platform. But she had only made it halfway when her grappling hook pulled free.

Spoiler plummeted back towards the ground, flailing out with a panicked cry. A rush of air clawed at her face. Utter terror thundered through her heart.

She crash landed in a cloud of dust and splintered wood. Rotted floorboards gave way beneath her, creating a small pit around the fallen hero. For a few moments she lay sprawled over the debris, unable to move or even breathe.

Then a towering silhouette blotted out her vision. Nightwing loomed over her, murderously calm and collected. Spoiler opened her mouth to shout for help, but no sound came out. The impact had robbed her lungs of air.

She searched his eyes, desperate for a hint of life. Nothing. There was nothing. He was deep in the clutches of Poison Ivy's serum. Even if she could speak, there was little hope of reaching him.

The last thing she saw was the bottom of Nightwing's boot, descending towards her with ruthless velocity. Her body went limp. His leg recoiled, another kick aimed at the unconscious girl's head. But before it could land, a dart buried into the flesh of his neck.

"That takes care of two of you." Cobblepot lowered his umbrella. This time, he had found his mark.

* * *

 **A/N: I'll be uploading the next chapter later today! Hang tight!**


	34. What He Has Lost

Nightwing ripped the dart from his neck and turned on the crimelord, who backed away with cowardly, shuffling steps.

The masked man tried to advance, but already his strength was waning. He stumbled and sank to his knees. "Batman…" he gasped, reaching out one trembling hand.

Cobblepot drew up his shoulders. "It's too late to call for help, dear fellow."

"Yes. It is too late," a blood-curdling voice growled in his ear. Cobblepot's smugness evaporated. He swivelled slowly, peering up into the mask of the dark knight himself. Batman hoisted him into the air by the collar of his tuxedo and held him inches from his face.

"Wh-what's the matter, Batman?" Cobblepot stammered, trying to maintain a scrap of defiance. "Not accustomed to losing?"

"I have lost more than you know," he rasped. "And what _you_ have lost...is my mercy." He slammed Cobblepot into the ground and then followed with his fists. Again and again he beat the man, staining his tuxedo with his own blood. Vengeance flowed through his veins, delaying the grief that was lying in wait.

"Batman! Batman, stop!" someone shouted after what seemed like ages. He looked over to see Spoiler kneeling beside Nightwing's writhing body. Tears streamed down her battered, unmasked face. "I think-I think he's dying."

Batman let the unconscious Cobblepot fall heavily to the floor. His rage faded. And in his head he could hear the scream of a little boy watching his mother's pearls scatter across the ground. The scream that came back to haunt him when Bane's dagger plunged into Shadow's stomach. The scream that could not be silenced.

"No…no…!" His legs felt like lead as he trudged over to them. Nightwing's face came into view. All color had fled from his skin, leaving it waxen and pallid. Sweat dripped into his eyes. His chest heaved with every jagged breath.

The dark knight dropped to the floor across from Spoiler. Nightwing's eyes rolled towards him. "Bruce?"

"Yes. I'm here, I'm here. It's alright." He pulled off a glove and pressed his hand against the young man's cheek, knuckles still bloodied and swollen.

"I'm...sorry...so sorry…" Blake managed through clenched teeth.

"No, don't say that." Bruce shook his head. "This was Poison Ivy's fault. I know you tried to fight it. It's okay. It's going to be okay." But even as he spoke, Bruce could feel his hope dying like a flame in the wind.

Blake shuddered violently. Bruce's heart tore open to see the agony that wrenched the young man's face. "I'm proud of you, Blake," he whispered, gathering him up close to his chest. "I should've told you that more. I should've…" he trailed off, choking on a sob. Memories of their partnership flashed through his mind uninhibited. Blake's body grew heavy in his arms.

"Batman-wait!" Stephanie perked up suddenly. "The antidote! Give him the antidote!"

"It wasn't made for this poison," Bruce replied glumly. "It won't do anything."

"Please, we have to try!" she urged.

"Spoiler-"

"You said so yourself, remember? It was always part of her destiny to save him. Give the antidote a chance. Give _Shadow_ a chance."

Bruce looked up. Stephanie's blue eyes stared back at him, a staunch faith blazing in their depths. He had seen that fire before. For a moment, it was almost as if he were gazing at somebody else.

He retrieved the vial from a small pouch in his utility belt and held it out to her. She unscrewed the lid and carefully poured the solution into Blake's mouth. "Come on, Blake," she whispered. "Come back to us."

* * *

Police stormed into the factory, subduing the last of Cobblepot's henchmen. Most lay in bloody, unconscious heaps on the floor. "Take them out of here," Commissioner Gordon ordered, scanning the tomb-like walls for a sign of the dark knight.

"He's this way." Spoiler appeared out of the dark, as if begotten by the shadows. Gordon jumped, startled.

"Wh-where?"

She turned her head, looking over one shoulder. There was something grim about her silence that unsettled the commissioner. He made his way over to Spoiler's side and followed her gaze. "No...it can't be…"

The dark knight knelt on the floor, tears of anguish spilling over his mask and landing on the cobalt blue bird stretched across Nightwing's chest. The young hero's arms lay limp at his sides. His face looked peaceful, serene even. Gordon approached slowly, placing a comforting hand on Batman's back.

"I failed him, Gordon," Batman lamented. "He was a hero, and I let him die a villain."

"No," the commissioner protested. "This city will always remember him as a hero. I promise you that." Tears found their way down Gordon's face as well. He grasped one of the young man's still-warm hands. "At least he's with her now."

* * *

 **A/N: Make sure to read the next chapter!**


	35. Digitalis Lanata

**A/N: I posted two chapters at once (so three altogether for today haha) so be sure to read the one before this if you haven't already!**

* * *

Blake's chest felt heavy, as if his heart were turning to stone. He felt tired, tired down to his very bones. A touch on his face brought him forward. Someone was brushing the hair from his damp forehead. His eyes cracked open.

" _Shadow?_ "

Dark, silken hair draped over one shoulder as she leaned closer and placed a kiss on his lips. "Yes. I am here," she breathed. One of her hands slipped into his.

Blake's head swam like a tumultuous sea. "But...you're not. Not really." He pulled his hand away. "Why must you torment me? Why won't you let me forget?"

Her sable eyes softened with sadness. "Is that what you want?"

He rolled onto his side, facing away from her. "Sometimes. Sometimes I wish that I had never gone to the shipyard that night. That I had never found you. Then I could've been spared this pain."

Shadow drew in a breath sharply. "Don't do this, Blake," she pleaded. "Let me help you. Let me in."

He could feel something bitter flowing through his veins. Grief battled with guilt deep in the recesses of his heart. "You said you would always fight at my side. But you left me, Shadow. Why did you leave me?"

She pulled on his shoulder, making him face her once more. "I am still fighting at your side. I have been all along, don't you see?" Her hand returned to his face. "There are many kinds of battles, you know."

He gazed up at her dolefully. "I'm just...I'm tired, that's all. Tired of fighting."

"We are all fighting for you now. Please hold on, Blake. Don't let the poison set in." Her fingers strayed back through his hair, bringing forth a rush of memories and quelling his anger beneath the tenderness of her touch.

He took hold of her hand and pressed it against his lips. "I...I didn't mean it, Shadow. I don't want to forget."

She smiled at him gently. "I know. It's alright."

"It's just...I never even got to say good-bye." Tears streamed down his cheeks, no longer checked by pride.

"There will never have to be a good-bye. Not between us." A valiant spark glowed in the depths of her eyes. It was the same spark he had seen the first time they met. Something from that day stirred in his soul anew.

She felt it, too. "You were always my beacon, you know that? My reminder of the light. I came from a different world than you and Bruce. Someday, we'll get to be part of the same world again. But for now, Gotham still needs you. Your team still needs you. Help them guide others to that light."

He nodded solemnly. "I think I understand. And Shadow?"

"Yes?"

"I have something to confess." A grin crept across his face, hinting at his old self. "Gardening is _really_ hard work."

A laugh fell from her lips. Oh, how he'd missed that sound!

"But I did it, you know. I built our garden. Rows and rows of purple foxgloves, just like you wanted."

"Yes, and it's absolutely perfect." Her smile glowed like sunrise. "Thank-you for my flowers. Thank you for everything. I love you, Blake."

He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I love you, too, Shadow. Now come here-" He pulled her down on top of him.

She laughed again between kisses. But suddenly, it was as though she had touched him with fire. He could feel her flames coursing through his veins, filling him with strength. His heart flooded with every good memory, every private moment that they shared, until it was bursting at the seams.

And then she was gone.

* * *

Blake bolted upright. He blinked, looking around him in a daze. He was in the Bat Cave again, lying on a medical cot. Someone was at his side. Stephanie gaped at him with big, tearful eyes. Her bottom lip quivered as though she had paused mid-cry. For a few moments each stared at each, equally surprised.

"Blake? Blake!" she finally blurted out. She threw her arms about his neck, knocking him flat again.

"Hey, hey! What's the matter with you?" In spite of his tone, he held her tightly against him. She breathed a little sigh of relief.

"We almost lost you, you big oaf."

"Well, you won't be rid of me that easily. Serves you right, too."

Stephanie giggled as she pulled away, letting him sit up again. "Bruce! Oh, he's going to flip-hey Bruce! Bruce, come quick!"

Their mentor appeared, still wearing his suit and cape but no cowl. Ebony hair clung to the back of his neck, drenched in sweat. He came towards them with slow, incredulous steps. "How-but you- _Blake_!"

Stephanie scrambled out of the way as Bruce rushed over and swept the young man up into a bear hug.

Blake gasped for breath in the fervent embrace, but found himself relishing it just as much. Finally, Bruce set him down on the cot again. "Are you alright? Are you in pain? How do you feel?"

Both Blake and Stephanie laughed at his fretting. "I'm alright," the young man promised. His smile shone with a resurrected hope. "Everything's going to be alright."

"Well good. Because there's still work to do." Bruce's chest bloomed with pride as he looked between his two wards. "Cobblepot's days of running this town are over. Poison Ivy is still out there, but she doesn't stand a chance. No one does. Not against _this_ team."

* * *

 **A/N: Only a few chapters left as our heroes wrap up some lose ends!**


	36. A Symbol

Wayne Manor was flooded with light by the time Stephanie awoke. She yawned, still bushed from the roller coaster highs and lows of the night before. But now that Blake was safe again, she felt ready to face whatever the future held. She threw back her covers and raced downstairs, a new determination bounding through her heart.

Alfred sat alone in the kitchen, hands curled around a cup of tea. He hailed her with a warm smile. "Morning, Miss Brown! Or afternoon, rather."

"Afternoon?"

"Yes. Master Wayne asked me not to wake you. How's your head?"

She rubbed at the lump on her scalp from Nightwing's poison-induced assault. "I'll be fine. Where's Bruce? Is Blake up yet?"

"They've been in the Bat Cave for hours now, under the guise of working on their next move. But I suspect they have a lot to catch up on." He winked at the young girl. "In the meantime, would you like some oatmeal?"

Stephanie nodded gratefully and took a seat at the table. Cobblepot's mugshot looked up at her from the front page of a nearby paper. She pulled it towards her and began reading the morning's big story. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips as she thought of her dad hearing the news.

"That smells amazing. Is there enough for me, too? Or has Steph eaten us out of house and home yet?"

The young girl's attention whipped to the doorway. Blake filled the frame, his face alight with a playful grin.

"Don't worry, there's plenty," Alfred replied. "But we did have to cut into your allowance to supplement my grocery fund."

Blake met Stephanie's eyes and nodded a greeting. She felt a rush of relief to see him again. There was something new and kind in his demeanor as he drew himself up to the table. "Hey, tell me the truth," he said, leaning back in his chair. "While I was gone, did Alfred miss me?"

"Oh you should've heard him! He'd go on and on, the poor guy!"

Blake laughed heartily. Alfred walked over, unruffled, and set some bowls before them. "Actually, it took me three days to notice. And when I did, it was because of the scarce amount of dirty dishes in your room."

The young man cast him an affectionate glance. "I missed you, too, Alfred. I missed you, too."

As they dug into their breakfast, Stephanie realized just how much she wanted to say to Blake. She wanted to tell him how scared she had been at the thought of losing him. She wanted to tell him that she understood his initial reluctance. She wanted to tell him how he was like the big brother she never had.

But she found herself unable to say anything at all. An awkward distance still lingered between them. Blake, too, seemed suddenly bashful. Fortunately, their hunger filled the silence for a time. Just as Stephanie scraped the last few bites out of her bowl, Blake finally spoke up.

"By the way, uh, Bruce said he wanted to talk to you about something."

"He did?"

"Yeah." The young man sent her an encouraging smile. "He's finishing up some plans in the Bat Cave. I think you should head down there."

* * *

"Did you want to speak with me?"

Bruce looked up from the supercomputer, blinking as his eyes adjusted from the brightness of the screen to the darkness of the Bat Cave. He spotted Stephanie making her way down the elevator steps.

"Ah, yes. Come here."

She came to a stop before him, wringing her hands nervously. He rested his elbows on his knees and blew out a sigh.

"Do you remember your first day here at Wayne Manor?"

She nodded and reflected on that auspicious morning, the morning that had changed her life. "Of course."

"And do you remember our deal?"

She nodded again. "Yeah-to help you take down Cobblepot."

His lips curved upward. "One of the best deals I ever made. Because not only is Cobblepot behind bars, but Blake is home safe. We have you to thank for all of that. But...well...it looks like our contract has been completed."

Stephanie's heart sank to her shoes. It dawned on her then, where he was going. She bit her lip to keep a flood of disappointed tears at bay.

"I guess...I guess what I'm trying to say is...I think Spoiler has had her last patrol." Bruce stood up and placed an apologetic hand on her shoulder.

"Oh," was all she could say. She wanted to protest, she wanted to argue. But a deal was a deal. Wayne Manor was not her home, after all. It was Bruce's. It was Blake's. Her place was elsewhere.

Stephanie hung her head and turned to leave. Bruce grasped her shoulder tightly, stopping her from taking another step.

"But-" he said with a pregnant pause. "Maybe...maybe it's time that Batgirl returned to Gotham."

Stephanie looked up at him slowly, her face wrenched in confusion. "Batgirl?"

He walked over to the cave wall. With the push of a button, part of the wall slid up to reveal three suits in a glass case. The first was Batman's, large and formidable. Next was Nightwing's, sleek and chiseled. The third was one she had never seen before. It looked like a smaller version of the statue in Robinson Park, only with gold and purple accents. The fearsome, bat-like cowl stared back at the incredulous young girl.

"Is that-is that for me?" she asked, unable to look away.

"Yes, if you'll have it. You've already earned it." He walked over and stood at her side once more.

"But I-I can't," she sputtered. "I mean, _she_ was Batgirl."

"Batgirl is a symbol, not a person." He placed a knuckle under her chin, urging her gaze to meet his. "One day, we'll pass along Batman and Nightwing's mantles as well. I believe Shadow would be proud to pass hers on to you."

Stephanie felt her cheeks turning color. Her heart drummed against her chest so loudly, she thought surely Bruce could hear it. She wanted that suit more than anything. To think-Wayne Manor _could_ be her home. Alfred, Bruce, and Blake-they could all be family. _Blake_!

"But what about Blake?" she asked suddenly. "I don't think he'd be very happy about this."

Bruce smiled and clapped her on the cheek. "It was his idea. Now, are you ready to go get Poison Ivy?"


	37. Bamonte's Italian Food

In a crumbling, faded part of town, a little brick restaurant fared pretty well for itself. There were always fresh flowers beneath its green awnings. Inside, butter-colored wallpaper and cheerful red carpet gave it a dated charm. But families who lived in the neighborhood knew better than to stop by for dinner. That's because at Bamonte's they served Italian, as in the mafia.

Maroni sat in a booth near the back wall, surrounded by a gaggle of men in polished suits and fedoras. His eyes flicked between a mountain of poker chips on the checkered tablecloth and the three of a kind in his hand. It wasn't the best deal, but Maroni had already decided he wasn't going to fold. Not tonight.

Before he could raise the pot another grand, something catapulted through one of the picture windows. A small, bat-like figure rolled to her feet amidst the debris. She stared down the throng of shocked and confused mobsters in steely silence.

Frightened whispers began to circulate. _"It can't be-!" "Batgirl?" "She's supposed to be dead!"_

A sinister smile crept across her face. "You there-Maroni."

Maroni rose at the beckoning. He pushed his men out of the way to get a better look at the intruder. After sizing her up, he removed the cigar from his mouth and chuckled humorlessly. "No, you ain't her. Even though you look like her. Where does Batman keep picking up you freaks? Is there some petshop I don't know about?"

Raucous laughter filled the restaurant. But the familiar stranger stood her ground, unperturbed. "I need everything you know about Poison Ivy and how to get in touch with her."

Maroni balked dramatically. "Listen, sweetheart. I only work with professionals."

" _No one_ calls me sweetheart."

A cloud of smoke drifted to the ceiling from Maroni's cigar. He flashed her a flippant smile. "What are you gonna do about it, hurt me?"

She folded her arms across her chest. "Nah. Not today." Then she laughed with such delight, that the men standing behind Maroni tugged on their ties nervously.

"...but my friends will." The restaurant went pitch black.

All around Maroni, cries of surprise were met with the sound of blows. There was a brief scuffle in the dark and then silence-dreadful, ominous silence. Maroni backed away, whimpering. The lights flicked back on.

Batman glowered before him, holding two of his men in the air by their collars. Nightwing stood nearby. A pile of unconscious gangsters lay at his feet. Batgirl looked on with pure, child-like joy on her face.

"That's Fattori, isn't it?" Nightwing asked, sheathing his escrima sticks and walking over to a painting on the wall. "Good taste!" He admired it for a second, then reached up and removed it from its nail.

"Hey!" Maroni protested.

Batman tossed the two thugs aside and marched towards him.

"Okay, okay, you can have it! On the house!" Maroni relented. He turned up his hands in surrender and feigned a smile at the dark knight. But Batman continued his advance until his frightful mask was mere inches from the mobster's face.

"Didn't you hear Batgirl the first time? We need everything you have on Poison Ivy."

Maroni gulped. He was going to fold tonight after all.


	38. Ivy's Last Stand

Steel beasts groaned laboriously as they plodded down a set of tracks on the outskirts of Gotham. A huddle of buildings surrounded the trainyard. Metallic clangs echoed against their scowling walls, slowly fading into the darkness until all was silent and still once more. Then, from the rooftop of the forsaken station, a glint of moonlight shimmered briefly across the surface of a cape.

"This looks like the place alright," Batman muttered.

Nightwing landed beside him, followed by the small, fiendish figure of Batgirl. "What makes you so sure?" the young man asked.

" _Look_!" Batgirl whispered. She had followed Batman's gaze to the side of a faded red building that was once a trendy high-rise. Jungle-like leaves spread out from its foundation. Vines wound through sunken balconies and broken windows, blooming with stubborn life. The flora climbed higher and higher up the walls, covering all traces of man the way a swarm devours its prey.

"Do you recognize this at all?" Batman asked the bewildered Nightwing.

He shook his head. "I only remember seeing the place from the inside. But it's all kind of foggy, really."

"Batman, why are those plants acting like that?" Batgirl asked, a hint of apprehension in her voice.

"I don't know. But somehow, it has to do with Poison Ivy."

"Let's go get her then. And no flirting this time, okay?" She threw her teammates a pointed glare.

Nightwing and Batman exchanged offended looks. "Well," the younger man said. "If we forget, at least we can count on you to get us out of trouble!"

"I suppose I have to do everything around here, don't I?"

Batman's eyes shone affectionately. "Welcome to being Batgirl."

* * *

"That Legrand fellow is waking up again." A slim, stubbled henchman appeared at the foot of the sunken stairs. The lobby was barely recognizable anymore. Plants shot through the floor and clawed at the lofty ceiling. Tendrils of vines wrapped around a marble statue in a dried up fountain. The graceful form of a woman perched cross-legged on its ledge, her skin tinted green in the dim light.

A muscle-bound figure standing nearby cracked each of his knuckles. "Would you like me to give him another dose?"

Ivy smiled up at him. "Bring him here. But don't give him another dose, Remus. I've had my fun."

Remus shoved past the slim, stubbled henchman and made his way up the winding staircase. Minutes later he returned, dragging a disoriented Legrand behind him. He kicked the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel.

Legrand winced as his knees struck the ground. "Wh-where am I? What's going on?" he asked shakily.

"Hello, love."

He froze. He knew that voice well. " _Pamela_?!"

She crouched before him, smiling with a wicked sense of satisfaction. "I'm so glad you suggested we come to Gotham, Marc. It's been such an adventure."

Legrand sifted through the patches of memories floating around his brain. "Why aren't you dead?" he demanded. "How come the poison didn't work?"

"Oh, but I _did_ die, remember? It was the poison that brought me back to life. Mother Nature has made me her agent; she has shown me who I truly am."

"Mother Nat...? Pamela, what's gotten into you?"

"Did you not hear me? Pamela is dead! It's Poison Ivy now." Her eyes smoldered with sudden animosity. A vine above them began to quiver.

"Men like you want nothing but dominion-to subdue everything within your power. Well how does it feel, hmm? To be powerless? To be controlled?"

"But-but what about Cobblepot? You wanted to work with that vile man! How are you any better than me?"

Again the vine shuddered. Pamela's lips curled back in a sneer.

"He was merely a stepping stone. A necessary but temporary evil. I won't be needing him anymore. I won't be needing _anybody._ "

Nightwing flitted briefly through her mind. She pursed her lips, trying to shut out memories of her miserable failure at the factory. It was with honest remorse that Ivy grieved the hero's death. Sure, she still had an army of loyal men. But none could compare to Nightwing. She had been sure that he would come around, that there would be a time when he no longer needed her serum. Once Batman's hold had worn off, of course. Thanks to Cobblepot, however, that chance was gone forever.

Ivy remembered how terrified she had been as she fled to her sanctuary, defeated and alone. But when she awoke, the room was covered in vines. It was a gift. A gift from Mother Nature herself. And a sign that she had more work to do.

"Pamela-Ivy-whoever you are. Listen to reason!" Legrand pleaded. He gathered his feet beneath him and tried to stand. At the same time, the vine above him crept downwards. It swirled around his neck like a snake.

He stumbled backwards in shock. "What kind of game is this? H-how are you doing that?" The vine drew taut. Legrand pulled at it desperately, his breath turning to ragged gulps.

"Pamela!" he croaked. "Please!"

"Good-bye, Marc. I'm going to enjoy watching you die." Ivy rested her hands on her hips and watched his demise hungrily. Her chest tightened with anticipation. Her eyes gleamed with malice.

Suddenly the vine snapped. Legrand fell heavy to the floor. A batarang lodged into the wall behind him with a sharp _cling_.

"No!" Ivy screamed. Her face twisted in anger. "You! Call the others!" The slim, stubbled henchmen retreated hastily up the staircase.

"They're a little busy at the moment," someone said. A bat-like figure perched atop the marble statue in the center of the fountain. But it was not the bat she knew. This one looked small, small enough to be a child.

"Who do you think you are?" Ivy demanded impatiently.

"Batgirl. And I'm here to place you under arrest."

A clamor spilled down the stairs. Ivy whipped around to find her men being tossed about like ragdolls as the dark knight plowed through their midst, stopping them from coming to their boss's aid.

"Remus honey, get her down from there," Ivy ordered. "Then help the others."

The brutish man stalked straight towards Batgirl. She flashed him a confident smile. "You know what they say, don't you? The bigger they are-" She leapt from the statue's shoulders and sailed straight at his chest with a flying kick. Remus crashed to the ground like a stack of bricks. "The harder they fall!"

He pulled himself up with a furious roar, only to meet a flurry of fists and feet. Batgirl lashed at him again and again, darting back and forth to avoid his murderous lunges. Then he got lucky. One of his counter punches landed, sending her several feet through the air.

"And the _smaller_ they are…" he jeered, advancing towards her inert body. "The easier they break."

Out of nowhere, someone's boot flew across his face. He staggered backwards and spat out a mouthful of blood. "What the hell-?"

Nightwing stood between him and Batgirl, poised for a fight. "Pick on somebody your own size, why don't you?"

Remus tensed his rippling muscles. "Gladly!" He charged at the masked man. They clashed like two freight trains, crushing the fragrant flora around them in their brutal assault. Where Nightwing lacked in size and strength, he compensated with speed and skill. One final well-placed blow, and Remus was knocked out cold.

"Everybody stop this nonsense! You're ruining my beautiful plants!" Ivy's voice cut through the fray. Nightwing felt something curl around his body like a tentacle. He looked down to see more and more vines wrapping around him, slowly squeezing the breath from his chest.

"Batgirl!" he shouted, trying to warn her. But there was no sign of the young girl. Meanwhile, the dark knight was fighting against a similar predicament. The remaining henchmen climbed to their feet, sneering at Batman's plight.

Ivy sidled closer to Nightwing as he fought against the ruthless stranglehold of the vines. "You're alive," she purred, cupping his face in her hands. He snarled at her touch. "And returned? To me?"

"I came to stop you, Ivy. You won't win. You'll never win!"

She clicked her tongue, chiding his valiance. "Don't be like this, love. Don't talk like you're one of them. We both know you aren't." She turned his gaze towards his mentor. "And tonight, I'm going to free you from Batman's tyranny."

The vines tightened around Batman's throat. He thrashed violently in their grip, his breath coming shorter and shorter until it was a mere gargle.

"No! Stop this!" Nightwing cried. He struggled against the vines with renewed vigor and urgency.

"I'm giving you a chance, don't you see?" Ivy insisted, grabbing hold of his face once more. There was an unexpected earnestness on her own. "I've seen the pain behind your eyes. I can make it better, you know. I can make _you_ better. Please...don't fight it…" She leaned slowly towards his lips.

"Can it, lady! He isn't your type!" Batgirl appeared behind the villainess and swiftly plunged a needle into her neck.

Ivy cried out sharply. The vines went limp. Batman and Nightwing fell to the floor, groaning upon impact. The jungle around them shriveled in decay, hissing as they retreated into cracks and crevices. The remaining henchmen turned to flee, but were quickly mowed down by the dark knight.

"Nightwing! A little help, please!" He looked over to see Batgirl struggling to hold Ivy up. She had gone limp as the vines.

Nightwing shrugged off the last of his binds and then helped the young girl guide her to the floor. Flaming red hair fanned out behind her head. She looked even more beautiful without any of the scorn, the rage, the sinister ambition. They watched avidly as something strange overcame her visage.

Ivy's skin flushed with color. A rosiness returned to her cheeks. Breath filled her lungs, causing her chest to rise like a tide. All around them, the last of the green shrank away until there was no sign of the lush jungle that had just existed.

"What did you inject her with?" Nightwing finally asked.

"The antidote," she replied. "I'm not sure why. It just...it seemed like the right thing to do."

He smiled, his eyes softening. "Well you seem to have a knack for that, you know? A knack for doing the right thing." He gripped her shoulder appreciatively. "Gotham's lucky to have you."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long! It was a beast. Hopefully you all like it. Only three more chapters! And I already have rough drafts of those, so they'll be up shortly.**


	39. Amends

**A/N: To my guest commenter-I answered you in the comment's section. In case you didn't see it, the conversation you were wondering about is in this chapter! Enjoy!**

* * *

The dingy patient gown was a stark contrast to Pamela's usual green dress. Still, she carried herself with grace and poise as the orderly led her into her cell. Just as the door locked, Pamela realized that her cell was already occupied.

"Couldn't wait to get me alone, darling?"

She sauntered over to the masked man leaning against the wall. Nightwing straightened, wearing a stony countenance.

"I have some questions for you."

"For me? Oh, love. We don't need to talk…" Her fingers reached for his face, but he grabbed hold of her wrist and tilted his head towards her with a reproachful look.

"Batgirl was telling the truth, you know. You aren't my type."

She pushed out a pouting lip. "I guess that makes me a villain, seeing as you're a hero."

"No." Nightwing shook his head. "You're no villain."

"Oh?" She sat on the edge of her cot and crossed her long, elegant legs.

Nightwing leaned against the wall once more. His demeanor softened. "I've dealt with villains before. Know them well. They're monsters, usually."

"Always did fancy myself a beauty rather than a beast." Pamela giggled.

"You aren't a monster; you're just wounded. Angry."

Her smile faded. "Don't presume to know about me, love."

"Legrand confessed," Nightwing continued. "He told us everything. I know all about the night at the hotel, the night he tried to poison you. He treated you as disposable, insignificant. It was how you were used to being treated by a man, isn't that right?"

"What are you talking about?" She put both feet on the ground and stiffened.

"I read your file, Pamela. Your father...he was a monster, too."

Her nostrils flared with quiet, stinging anger. "What does it matter?" she snapped. "Why do you care?"

"Because I was wounded as well, when we first met. You were right about the pain behind my eyes. See, I...I lost somebody. I felt betrayed, abandoned, angry. I felt a lot of the same things you felt, though they came from a different place."

"And…?" She folded her arms across her chest, impatient for a point.

"Those feelings, if you let them sink in, they're just poison. We were both poisoned people before those ancient herbs got into our system."

For a few moments, Pamela simply glared at him. Then her shoulders sank in resignation. Her arms slowly slid down to grip the edge of the mattress.

"But the difference is, you're _Nightwing_. And I...I'm a villain. Maybe not according to you, but according to the rest of Gotham." She bit her lip with a glimpse of genuine remorse.

"Well, wounded or not, we must all face the consequences of our choices. But here you'll receive help in addition to your sentence. And once that sentence is over, you'll have the chance to use your talents for good."

"Talents?"

"You have two degrees from Seattle University. That was also in your file." He grinned in the wake of her surprised look. "Perhaps you should try making antidotes instead of poisons. Gotham's best scientists haven't discovered a cure for Laughing Gas, you know. That maniac Joker has been locked away for years, but his stuff is still on the streets. I'll bet you could whip something up in no time."'

"I don't know, your people seem to have antidotes down," she remarked pointedly.

"We got lucky, that's all."

She sighed. "Fine. I'll think about it. And I'll answer your questions, too, but only if I can ask something in return."

She paced over to him with slow, cat-like steps. He waited silently, expectantly.

"What was her name?" Pamela asked point-blank.

"Whose name?"

"The woman you lost."

Nightwing's jaw tightened. "I never said it was a woman."

"Oh, darling. But we both know it was."

A capitulating smile slowly crossed his face. "I guess we do. Very well then." He drew in a deep breath. "Her name...was Shadow."

Pamela smiled back. There was a mote of sympathy in the gesture. "Well, this Shadow, _she_ was the lucky one. You're a noble man, Nightwing. Wretchedly noble." She leaned against the wall beside him. "Now, what was it you wanted to ask me, darling?"

"It's about those paintings you had me steal. I know Maroni made off with some of them. But where are the rest?"

* * *

Old Man Parkhurst sighed wearily as he locked the front door to his gallery. Business had been slow and cumbersome ever since the robbery. He had built this place with years of his life, but now that his most prized pieces were gone, he felt his future years had been robbed as well.

He walked the halls alone, pausing in front of a painting of goat herders on an arid hillside. " 'I have spent my years hoping and I will end discouraged.' Now I know what you meant by that, Fattori my friend."

He sighed again and turned to continue. Then he froze. "Wait- _Fattori_?" He squinted at the painting as though his eyes might be deceiving him. How could it be here when it had been stolen in the robbery?

He looked about wildly. Indeed, almost every painting was staring back at him like they had never been gone in the first place. "Wha-wha-what?"

"It's not everything, I know. But give me some time and I might be able to track down the rest."

Parkhurst gave a start at the unexpected voice. Then he spied Nightwing standing nearby, draped in shadows.

"Oh!" He backed away with stumbling, fearful steps.

"It's alright, it's alright," Nightwing assured him, hands raised. "I came here to make amends. I...I wasn't myself the last time you saw me."

"Wasn't yourself?" he parroted.

"I had been poisoned. Brainwashed, in a sense."

"Then you mean...you didn't turn?"

"Turn? No!" Nightwing shook his head vigorously. "No, I still work for Gotham. For people like you-the good guys."

Parkhurst braved a smile. There was something ardent and trustworthy on the young man's face. Something that fanned flames of hope within his aging, tired heart.

"I don't know how to thank you. I know it's just a bunch of paintings, but they are more than that, more than my livelihood even." He gestured around the gallery. "They are...the voices of the dead. Brush strokes of the past. Beautiful, ugly, tragic, auspicious...all of it." His eyes glittered with grateful tears as he extended a hand to the masked hero. "Thank you for bringing them home."

Nightwing reached out and shook his hand. "It's the least I could do."

"Well, how about a tour?" Parkhurst offered, beaming with a boyish sort of eagerness.

"Sure. I've got a little time." They started through the hall together, shoulder to shoulder.

"And then more crime-fighting I suppose?"

"Not tonight, actually," Nightwing replied, "Tonight, I have a few more amends to make."


	40. Soup to Nuts

"Hey Stephanie! Can you come in here?"

The young girl dashed into the room where she had been summoned to find Blake laboring over a television set.

"How does this thing work?" He gave her an exasperated look, holding three different remotes in his hand.

She laughed at him, eyes sparkling with genuine amusement. "You can leap off of buildings. You've taken on some of the best assassins in the world. But you can't work a TV?"

"Not just the TV-I'm trying to play a movie."

"A movie?"

He grinned mischievously. "Just make it work somehow, Miss Expert."

She took one of the remotes, pressed a few buttons, and lo and behold the television blinked to life. Oversized words crossed the screen, accompanied by an old-fashioned orchestra.

" _Soup to Nuts_?!" she shrieked excitedly.

"Yeah, I've got _Snow White and the Three Stooges_ and _Disorder in the Court_ as well. What do you say to a marathon?"

Stephanie's smile grew a mile wide. "YES! Oh wait-I'll ask Alfred to make us some banana splits. You-you do like banana splits, right?" She hesitated for a moment.

"I _love_ banana splits! And hey, when you get back, you'll have to give me the rundown on each of the Stooges. Bruce said Moe is his favorite."

"Moe? You're kidding me! Wait-Bruce watches the Three Stooges?"

"Yep. There's a lot about him that would surprise you. Did you know he sometimes uses the supercomputer to look up funny cat videos?"

"He _what_?" Stephanie just about fell over laughing. "Oh my gosh, promise you'll tell me more as soon as I come back with those banana splits?"

"I'll be right here," Blake assured, settling into the cushions. "And I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

Blake awoke to the soft sound of footsteps. Bruce appeared at the end of the couch. "Hey," he whispered. "Want me to get her out of here for you?"

Blake looked around, still coming to. The last movie had long since ended. Two dessert bowls sat on the coffee table, scraped clean. Light snores rose up from his side where Stephanie slouched in slumber. He smiled at the top of her golden crown.

"No, that's okay. I've got this." Blake slid his arms beneath the young girl and lifted, keeping her close to his chest. "Join me for some coffee after I lay her down?"

Bruce accepted the invite with a warm smile. Then he watched as Blake made his way down the hall, his footsteps resounding through the cold gray light of dawn. A new day was coming.

He could picture a younger version of himself carrying Shadow down the same hall. He'd come home after a patrol to find that she'd tried to wait up for him. Then he'd pick her up tenderly, grateful for the chance to be gentle again after a long night of beating criminals to a pulp. It was a welcome reminder of his humanity, a tether to innocence for someone who chose to live in the dark. It was Stephanie's turn to be that tether for Blake now.


	41. Bats of a Feather

**A/N: Okay I updated the last few chapters today! Be sure to go back and read them all! :-)**

* * *

Robinson Park bustled with the liveliness of a summer evening. Children chased each other through the freshly mowed grass. Conversations rose up from every bench. Walking paths brimmed with citizens out for their daily strolls. One such citizen, an older gentleman in a rumpled trench coat, stared at the ground as he walked along in thoughtful silence.

"Commissioner! Hey Commissioner!"

A young man was making his way towards him. He had raven dark hair that hung over his forehead and an endearingly lop-sided smile. "Where's the wife tonight?"

Gordon greeted him fondly. "Hey Blake! Well the kids needed help with homework, and I'm no good at the stuff."

"Me either," Blake commiserated. "Never did like paperwork."

Both men burst with laughter. And just like that, whatever distance remained between them vanished.

"It's good to have you back, son. I mean the real you." Again, there was that glimmer of shrewdness in the commissioner's eyes. Blake had noticed it the last time they talked in this park, but he had written it off as a fluke then.

"And whatever you said to Nightwing, it worked. He's back, too." Gordon shoved his hands in the front pockets of his coat.

Blake shook off his suspicion. "It wasn't what _I_ said. It was what _you_ said. You were right, you know. People who share the same grief shouldn't suffer alone."

A cell phone at Gordon's waist beeped suddenly. "Ah. That'll be the wife. Looks like she needs backup."

Blake nodded, looking a bit rueful. He held out a hand. "Well, I hope to see you around. Thank-you, Gordon. For everything."

The commissioner grasped his hand firmly. "You don't have to thank me, son. You'll never have to thank me."

He made his way down the rest of the path with long, hurried strides. Blake watched as he passed by Batgirl's lifelike statue. She stood poised and fearsome, watching over Gotham on her eternal vigil. In a way, it felt like she was still there with him. "No good-byes…" Blake whispered under his breath.

A young girl loitered at the base of the statue. She smiled at the commissioner politely as he hurried past. Then she turned back to the bronze figure and blew out a sigh.

Stephanie had asked to come here tonight, wanting to feel somehow closer to her predecessor. Solemn thoughts swirled around her head. She tried to picture how it must've felt to leave Wayne Manor that morning. She thought of the moment Shadow realized she would never return, never again set foot in the place where she was most loved.

"I wanted to thank you for your sacrifice," Stephanie said in a low, hushed tone. "I just wish I could've met you. But...well...in a way, I guess we meet every time I put on Batgirl's cowl, huh?" A kindred loyalty blazed in the young girl's chest as she imagined the heroine standing between Batman and Nightwing in the blue veil of the moon. Below them stretched their beloved city, Gotham, and the legacy that Stephanie would inherit. She drew in a breath, squaring her shoulders. "And Shadow? I promise to take care of them for you. Nothing bad will come to them on my watch. So long as I live to fight, it will be at their side."

The summer sun stooped to kiss the bay, turning the park a brilliant shade of gold. Stephanie nodded good-bye to the statue, then froze in bewilderment. For a brief moment, a life-like spark glowed in its eyes. And was that a hint of a smile at its cheeks?

Stephanie stepped closer. No, it was just a statue. A play of the light.

Or was it?

"Hey Steph!" Blake was jogging over to her side. "How about some ice cream before we go home? I know of a great place. Best rocky road you've ever tasted."

She grinned up at him. "Yeah, that sounds perfect. And hey, can we come back next week? I like it here."

"Sure. I like it here, too. You know that Shadow and I used to come here all the time?"

"You did?"

"Yeah. That was her favorite bench over there."

Stephanie scoffed. "She had a favorite bench? Man, you two were made for each other."

Blake put her in a headlock and tousled her honey-colored hair. "Well this square can still take you on any day of the week!"

"Oh yeah?" Stephanie wriggled free and put her hands on her hips in mock defiance. "Bet I could beat you to the car!"

Blake shoved her aside to give himself a head start. "Eat my dust!" he called behind him.

"Cheater! I'm going to get you for that!"

"I'm not afraid of you- _crap_ you're fast!" His smugness evaporated as he glanced over his shoulder.

"Mind your language, mister!"

Their shrieks of laughter drifted through the park and up to a lone figure standing on the crest of a hill. Bruce Wayne leaned against his Polaris roadster and watched them race towards the setting sun. An older gentleman in a rumpled trench coat passed by.

"Commissioner Gordon," the billionaire hailed. "Fine work bringing down that smuggling ring. I read all about it in the papers."

"Thank-you, Mr. Wayne. Be safe out there tonight."

"Safe?" The smile on Bruce's face froze.

"Those things are pretty dangerous, you know." Gordon nodded towards the roadster and then continued on his way without a second thought.

Bruce chuckled to himself, equal parts relieved and amused. Then he cast one final glance at the sunset. It looked like they were in for a peaceful night. Maybe even a few peaceful nights.

It would be a few years actually before someone broke that peace. But Gotham's guardians would be there-always they would be there. To stop the wicked. To protect the innocent. To rise again.

 **THE END**

* * *

 **A/N: Well that's it! How did you like it? I've had so much fun writing this sequel, and having the chance to escape to Gotham city every afternoon. I'm really going to miss it. As I've said before, I don't really have solid plans for another story with these characters, but I'm open to the idea! Maybe the Joker will return? Maybe Bruce will meet Selina Kyle? What do you guys think?**

 **In the meantime, I have a Star Trek fanfic in the works and will hopefully be posting that within a few weeks (because I just can't stop writing haha. It's like a compulsion at this point!). I'm going to miss these guys, but I think we left them in a good place. Thanks SO much to everyone who made this journey with me. I love hearing from you all, and hardly anything makes me happier than knowing that someone else enjoyed my work. I hope to see you at the start of the next adventure!**


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